Hell's Playground
by Silverspoon
Summary: Los Angeles has fallen to the forces of darkness and the humans have been driven underground. There is one who can wrest them from the jaws of hell. He bore the burdens of a champion, the guilty conscience of a martyr, and the face of an Angel.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Buffy The Vampire Slayer or any of the characters or settings therein. No disrespect is meant by this work of fanfiction.**

_**Descent - I**_

'_All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing' _

_**Los Angeles **_

_**2004**_

The city had fallen.

Fire and brimstone rained down upon the once vibrant streets, which were now barren and deserted save for those things that slithered their way through the darkness.

The acrid stench of rotting human flesh and spilled blood intermingled in the atmosphere with another aroma that was so familiar now to the forces of evil; fear.

Within less than a day of hell spewing its filth onto the streets, L.A. had been unrecognisably transformed. The surviving humans congregated below ground in the sewer systems that had once been reserved for those beings that now owned the endless night. Food was scarce, as were a multitude of other necessities and comforts many of the humans had been accustomed to in their previous lives. The result was a horde of dirty, malnourished, feral beings, who bore little resemblance to the individuals they had once existed as. Below the surface, a woman would think nothing of tearing apart a child with bare hands for the first scrap of meat that had crossed it's palm for days- in some cases, even if that child had sprung from her own loins.

The demons, however, were living like kings. The spoils of their victory were made all the more evident by the abandoned shells of buildings and burnt out cars that lined the roads.

Only one among them felt sorrow for this cruel blow of fate- this unnatural shift in the balance of power. He too skulked through the night, his mission to scavenge supplies to be distributed among the humans he should encounter after retreating to the sewers. This small mercy was all that he could provide for them now in the wake of his failure.

He bore the burdens of a champion, the guilty conscience of a martyr, and the face of an Angel.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Webs - II**_

'_Life is never easy for those who dream' - Robert James Waller_

'_**El Motel Luciérnaga ', New Mexico **_

_**2005**_

She had dreamed of him often since the day they had first met all those years ago, but never with such frequency as the last six months had brought.

Buffy Summers had only to close her eyes and his form was before her, every bit as striking as she remembered it to be. She had lived an entire lifetime in the warmth of his arms within the realms of her dreams, but that was all in the past now. The present brought to her only nightmares; visions that wrenched her from her slumber in cold sweats, and left her screaming and reaching out for a body she had not held against her own for several years.

Her friends worried for her health as Buffy stumbled through the days with all the attentiveness and enthusiasm of a coma patient. She woke, she ate a little, she trained, she slayed with precision, and once more she slipped into the recesses of her troubled mind only to reawaken through the night crying out for Angel.

Tonight, Buffy refused to play the game. She sat at the table in her motel room nursing a mug of coffee that had already seen five refills. Buffy had ingested so much caffeine that her hands were shaking, and she was grateful that Faith was currently covering the night patrols since she would not have immediately trusted her own aim.

"This must end, Buffy," Rupert Giles said softly, laying his hand over Buffy's to prevent her from once more raising the mug to her lips. Buffy nodded and grimaced.

"Yeah, this coffee is starting to taste kind of like lighter fuel," she replied, her smile forced, "maybe I'll switch to tea, you know, walk on the wild side."

Giles sighed, shook his head, and began cleaning his glasses as he always did when he was perplexed by something.

"I presume you are still having the dreams?" he pressed, blowing on the lenses and scrubbing at an invisible spot with the sleeve of his jacket. Buffy sensed he simply could not meet her gaze.

"No Giles, I'm drinking three gallons of cheap motel java at three in the morning 'cos I lost a bet," Buffy snapped, rubbing at her eyes wearily and not caring that she was likely leaving smudges of mascara in the wake of her fingertips.

Giles ignored her sourness and flipped open a book that had sat untouched on the table before him for the last hour. He was worried for his charge.

The nightmares had arrived six months ago when, unbeknown to the world, the fate of L.A. had already hung in the balance. That first night, Buffy had dreamed of Angel and his modest band of warriors, surrounded and falling fast as the gates of Hell literally opened onto the streets of Los Angeles. Buffy, Willow, Giles, and a group of promising potentials had left Rome that night, catching the first available flight and arriving outside L.A. only to find that the cavalry was too late. Some kind of force field surrounded the place and, upon stepping over the city limits, L.A. had spat Buffy out like a piece of chewed up gum. Despite Willow's best efforts, the energy field remained in place and nothing had come in or out of Los Angeles for those six months. Including Angel.

The government had set up a constant military guard around the city, claiming that Los Angeles had fallen victim to terrorist attack and would be shut down indefinitely. Thousands were believed to be dead and, although Buffy did not want to admit it, that much was probably true. L.A. was now the playground for every nasty the Hell dimension could spare, and Angel alone could not have stopped the human population from being slaughtered like the lambs they were. What the demons wanted with the city, the Scoobies could only guess, but if Buffy's dreams were accurate then it had something to do with Angel.

Buffy had refused to return to the potential training school they had established in Rome until she had discovered Angel's fate. The last six months had been spent flitting from America to Canada to Mexico to America once again. Try as she may, Buffy could not settle in one place for too long.

"I have to find a way into that city Giles," Buffy said quietly. "I have to know if Angel is still alive."

Her eyes were downcast but Giles could see the fresh tears shining within them. His heart bled for the woman he had come to regard as his daughter.

"We will find one, Buffy. I assure you," Giles promised, his voice brimming with fatherly concern. He wished with all his heart that he could allay her fears but he knew all too well that Angel's safety was rather precarious given the situation.

"But for now, why not rest? You can be of no use to anyone in your current state."

Reluctantly, Buffy nodded and shot Giles a small smile as a yawn cut off her impending speech. She opened her mouth to reply when the door of the motel room burst open to reveal a rather flushed Willow clad in a pair of cow print pyjamas.

Dawn, who had been sleeping in one of the twin beds, her hair in rollers and a mud mask covering her face, sat bolt upright and let out a shriek.

"Take the cheese but leave the pistachios, Captain Sparrow!" she yelped. As she peered around her with her mouth open, Dawn's ears began to rapidly turn crimson, an indication that beneath her mask she was most definitely blushing.

Buffy arched an eyebrow but the sarcastic quip died on her lips as Willow blurted, "It's L.A. The US Marines have parachuted in. Giles, the energy field must be down."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Misery Loves Company - III**_

'_We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell' - Oscar Wilde_

_**Fahey's Bar, Los Angeles **_

_**2005**_

_**Three hours earlier…**_

It was a little known fact that demons were actually highly appreciative of music. Of course, it did not speak to their souls, for the vast majority had none, and neither did it soothe the savage beast within. But music was one of the pleasures of the human world that demons simply and inexplicably did not detest.

The melody that drifted on the evening breeze from the jukebox in the corner of the bar had enraptured several of the demonic occupants, who within recent weeks had begun using the remaining buildings in L.A. as their human counterparts would have. A Luxlar demon was stationed behind the bar, serving drinks to the 'customers' using all eight tentacles simultaneously. The carcass of the previous bar tender had been propped up rather comically on a bar stool, his head stuffed between his thighs and his features frozen in the same terrified expression he had been wearing when he had been struck down by the axe of a Krishana demon. His entrails were of course still digesting in the creature's belly.

The door to the bar groaned on its hinges as it swung open, allowing a small cat to scuttle across the floor and approach the centre table.

"Sir," the feline hissed, rearing up on it's hind legs and bowing it's head in reverence to the demon it was now stationed before.

"Silence," the demon barked in reply, briefly exposing it's fangs as it smiled, "I love this song."

The cat, (or the creature that appeared as such), nodded emphatically and lowered itself to the ground to commence licking it's groin whilst the final bars of the song played out.

The demon he had been seeking sighed then immediately fixed his red pupils upon the new comer.

"What do you want, Sage?" the demon demanded, it's nostrils twitching at the scent that wafted from Sage's orange fur. The demon licked it's lips and a thick glob of saliva dropped onto the table before him. Sage visibly gulped, a rather comical gesture for a cat to undertake, and doubled over suddenly retching. Sage expelled a large fur ball from his throat, which he instantly batted away with his paw as though embarrassed. It was still a bone of contention for him that he had been assigned as an underling of a demon that on the whole resembled a rather dim-witted, overgrown puppy. He spent most of his serving days in nervous anticipation of being eaten or chased up the nearest tree.

"My Lord, I have word from the outside," Sage began, licking his paw and smacking his lips as he tasted dried blood on his claws. "The Slayer has been attempting to gain access to the city."

"We knew that six months ago, you dumb fur-ball," the demon snarled, peeling back his lips and growling at the cat, who shrank back visibly.

"Yes, yes sir," Sage hastened, "only now we have learned that she has a personal stake in it all, if you would pardon the pun."

Cerberus slammed an immense paw onto the surface of the table, causing the entire room to shake and the jukebox to abruptly cut out. A few of the lesser patrons grumbled under their breath but none dared to directly challenge the guardian of the gates of Hell.

"Speak cat, I grow bored," Cerberus said, his tone measured yet dangerous. The demon rose onto his hind legs and peered down at the insignificant lackey he now towered nine feet above.

"Angel is alive my lord," Sage said in a rather strangled voice. Immediately, Cerberus' eyes flashed crimson and an enraged howl bubbled up from his throat.

"He walks the Slayer's dreams, my Lord. This is what I have heard," Sage continued hastily. Had he resembled something more human, beads of perspiration would have been coursing down his forehead.

"And does the Slayer yet know this?" Cerberus demanded, dropping to all-fours and beginning to stalk through the bar, flinging furniture and demons against the wall where they blocked his path.

"We believe not," Sage said, smiling somewhat apprehensively, "I am told that she thinks her visions to be nightmares, and is not entirely sure what fate has befallen the city… or the vampire."

Cerberus paused and sat back on his haunches, both ears pricked up. The demon strongly resembled an enormous, ebony jackal, and was truly terrifying for both human and demon alike to behold. Sage was not entirely sure of the demon's powers but he had heard numerous stories during his time in L.A. of how the hound could devour not only the body, but also the essence of any being. The details of what exactly happened to that essence afterward were rather sketchy, but Sage was in no hurry to discover them firsthand.

Laughter abruptly sliced through the tension like a knife. Cerberus was literally rolling around on the tiles, cackling in amusement. Sage tittered, as of yet unsure of the joke. Cerberus fell abruptly silent once again.

"Let her in," he growled, his hackles raised and claws withdrawn in readiness.

"But sir…" Sage stammered, glancing around at the remaining demons in the bar for support. The horde cast their eyes to the bottoms of their glasses and turned their attentions away from the cat.

Allowing Buffy Summers into the city would surely only spell trouble. Indeed she was likely to bring with her an arsenal. The pathetic soldiers who stood guard outside the city limits posed little threat to the demons, but should the Slayer march into battle with a cadre of potentials at her feet then the comfortable set-up they had secured in L.A. would certainly come to an end.

"Do it," Cerberus roared, swiping at the feline, who yowled and hissed instinctively. "It's about time the Slayer went to Hell."

Sage scuttled backwards through the door, bowing one final time in the hellhound's direction.

"As you wish, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Reunited We Stand - IV**_

'_**It's really good to hear your voice saying my name, it sounds so sweet,**_

_**Coming from the lips of an angel, hearing those words it makes me weak' **_

_- Lips of An Angel by Hinder_

"Buffy…"

Just hearing that voice, like liquid chocolate, still made her tremble and seemed to set her whole body alight from somewhere deep within. Buffy reached out a hand to prevent herself from swaying but found nothing but air beneath her fingertips. Then he was before her and Buffy no longer needed steadying as Angel drew her into his broad chest.

His clothes hung from him in tatters, his shirt ripped open to the naval and his black leather pants torn along both thighs. Buffy clung to him like a child, enjoying for a few brief moments her own vulnerability as she wept into his shoulder.

She inhaled his new scent; sweat mingled with blood and death. She drew back slightly and swept the length of his body with her gaze. She paused every now and then in order to stroke her fingertips soothingly across each gash or nick she encountered. His body had been ravaged to the point that any truly living being would no longer be standing. Buffy's heart bled for him, for she knew that the only pain he would have felt was on behalf of those he had watched fall around him. That was the nature of his curse, and also the nature of the man himself.

"Hush my love," Angel whispered, his lips brushing her earlobe. Buffy shuddered and held on tighter to the vampire, not caring for the time being that the cross suspended from her neck was likely branding his skin. Angel seemed neither to mind nor notice as he gently rocked the Slayer in his arms.

"I thought you were…" Buffy trailed off, unable to finish. The faint dripping of water somewhere was the only sound to pierce the silence that followed. Buffy wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered against the chill in the air, which had only now begun to bother her. Angel suddenly and inexplicably drew away.

"There isn't much time, my love," he said earnestly. His dark eyes never wavered from Buffy's face, allowing her too much time in which to experience the wealth of sorrow and even fear that existed within them.

"Angel…" Buffy began, desperation overcoming her as she longed to be back within the comfort of his arms once again.

"They're coming for me, Buffy," he interjected, extending a hand to Buffy in the gloom. "Please, my love, don't try to stop them."

"How can you ask me that?" Buffy demanded, her voice rising a few octaves as fury washed over her in waves. After so many months of searching, she had only just found him again, and yet he was asking her to relinquish him to the darkness once more. In that moment, she despised him for being so selfish and yet selfless at the same time. Her head ached with the weight of what was being asked of her.

"Buffy, they will kill me, and they will kill you, and then they will swarm the face of this Earth like a plague," Angel continued, his jaw set in grim determination as he continued, despite Buffy's sobs, "you have to stop looking for me. You have to fulfil your duty as the Slayer. What's happening here is bigger than either you or I know how to handle. Don't come to L.A., I'm begging you…"

Buffy opened her mouth to reply but within the second it had taken her to find the words, Angel's screams were already tearing from his chest. The vampire threw his head back so far that Buffy feared his neck might break.

"Angel!" she yelled, unable to do more than back away from him as his body began to convulse. Then, within the dank tunnel, Angel combusted and a shower of ash rained down upon Buffy's head.

The Slayer awoke screaming, lashing out at thin air and suddenly finding herself flung backwards by a restraint that she scarcely remembered being applied. Her fingers clawed at the thick rope and she felt a small stab of pain as a fingernail snapped off below the quick.

"Buffy!" a familiar voice implored, whilst gentle hands found Buffy's shoulders and held her back with obvious difficulty. Buffy forced herself to relax, and finally opened her hazel eyes.

Willow was before her, the witch's expression fraught with weariness and more than a little anxiety.

Buffy realised that the minivan they had been riding in had drawn to a halt, and Giles was now peering over the headrest of the driver seat to gaze at her in evident concern.

It was Dawn who finally spoke in a quiet, trembling voice.

"Buffy, we're here."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Into the Breach - V**_

'_We make war that we may live in peace' - Aristotle_

_**Los Angeles border**_

The display of military strength surrounding the border of the city was truly awe inspiring. Buffy had never seen such a cache of modern weapons or armoury up close before, and Dawn had spent several minutes teasing her sister over the fact that she was almost salivating. Around forty men and women patrolled the area, each clad in full body armour and cradling rifles. Various other pieces of equipment ranging all the way from small knives to actual grenades were dotted about their persons, making Buffy one extremely jealous Slayer indeed. She did not, however, envy the camouflage combats the group sported, which seemed to do little to flatter the figures of the female wearers. Buffy may have been about to embark on one of the most epic battles of her life as the Slayer, but she had come equipped with her vanity as always.

Giles had parked the minivan several miles down the freeway and instructed the four potentials who had accompanied them to stand guard there. Willow, Buffy, Giles, and a protesting Dawn had walked the distance to the border, and were now concealed behind a very convenient copse of trees in order to gauge a point of entry.

A makeshift guard station had been established by the presence of an enormous tent a few feet outside the borderline, and several jeeps as well as a minibus were parked nearby. Buffy watched intently as the figures walked to and fro, all clearly bored and wishing they were elsewhere. Some of their faces seemed incredibly young and Buffy felt a pang of sadness as she thought about the horrors these soldiers had doubtlessly already witnessed in their lives. She could easily identify with the warriors before her.

During the two hour drive from the airport at San Diego, Willow had regularly checked in with Xander, who had stayed back at the motel in New Mexico to supervise the remaining girls. Xander had spent much of the day with his one eye glued to the national news stations, awaiting information regarding L.A. However, every channel seemed able to only rehash the same story; yesterday evening, twelve U.S. marines had parachuted into Los Angeles to determine the state of the environment. Giles assumed that this was a precautionary enforcement by the government, which unfortunately did little to forewarn the group as to what sights would greet them when they eventually arrived in L.A.

"So, the plan?" Dawn pressed, glancing at her sister, who had snagged Giles' binoculars and was chewing her bottom lip as she gazed through them into the distance.

"We go back to the van, round up the girls, and then we all skip across the border using Willow's cloaking spell," Buffy replied, her gaze never wavering from the troops that patrolled the perimeter.

"Good plan," Dawn replied, nodding and brushing her jeans off as she stood. Giles rose to his feet at her side and groaned as he both felt and heard his knees simultaneously crack.

"You're getting too old for this, hey G-man?" Dawn teased, her giggles abruptly ceasing at a single look from the Watcher. Dawn made a mental note to at least endeavour to behave in Giles' company for the remainder of the trip. She was unsure of how strong her resolve would be, however, as lately she had found herself more and more prone to unpredictable bursts of Xander-esque sarcasm. She rather hoped it was a temporary condition, much like the flu or salmonella.

"I suggest we wait for the cover of darkness before returning, Buffy," Giles began, strolling ahead with some difficulty. Dawn trotted along behind, as ever rather preoccupied by the condition of her nails.

"Buffy?" Giles repeated when several moments elapsed without a response. Giles paused, turning on his heel to face the slayer, and finding her gone.

"Dear God… surely not…" Giles hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits as he gazed into the distance towards the border. The atmosphere seemed almost to be shimmering, and Giles could just about discern the faint outline of two bodies moving towards the city at great speed. The soldiers around seemed oblivious to the disturbance, continuing with their duties without concern.

Dawn stopped dead in her tracks and turned back to face the city.

"Where'd Buffy and Willow go?" she demanded. In her own heart, she already knew the answer. She too could just about make out the outlines of the witch and her sister as they stepped across the borderline, and into L.A. Dawn watched them vanish into the horizon, her anger mounting with every passing second.

Dawn felt the blood rush to the tips of her ears as it always did when she was infuriated, but just as she opened her mouth to launch her tirade at her one remaining companion, there was a gruff shout from one of the soldiers in the distance.

"Stop! U.S. army!" barked the man, who had already cocked and raised his rifle. "If you do not stop, we will shoot."

Dawn scooted closer to Giles, who laid a protective hand on the young girl's shoulder, all the while his eyes affixed on the scene ahead. Seconds later, a figure darted across the city limit, a black leather duster swathing it's head and body. Upon making contact with the daylight, plumes of smoke began to rise from the man, and he screamed in evident pain. The figure barrelled towards the soldiers, who had begun to fire their weapons almost immediately.

Something in the way he carried himself, even in his current predicament, was all too familiar to Dawn. But no, it couldn't be, could it? No. After all, his body had imploded into ash and been consumed by the Hellmouth over a year ago.

Dawn had suffered her sister's account of the vampire's fate over and over again, until even the most vain of her hopes for his survival had been quashed. Then, in the rare moments that she had found herself alone since moving to the draughty old castle in Rome with the Scoobies and over a hundred potential slayers, Dawn had wept for him.

"Spike?" Dawn called, her voice barely audible above the sound of rifles, the vampire's guttural roars, and the bemused cries of the infantry, who had yet to encounter a foe that did not fall under a shower of gunfire.

As the vampire started in their direction, followed by a spray of bullets, Giles seized Dawn's arm and uttered a single word.

"Run."


	6. Chapter 6

_**City Lights - VI**_

'_This city is what it is because our citizens are what they are' - Plato_

_**Los Angeles**_

Buffy had barely stepped over the borderline into the city when Willow had begun reciting the tracking spell she had tailored to locate Angel. The Slayer's sense of balance was still reeling from the cloaking charm, and the sudden pulling sensation that the next spell ignited in the pit of her stomach knocked Buffy clean off her feet. It was several moments before her vision finally cleared and the overwhelming feeling of nausea subsided. Buffy blinked and rubbed her eyes with balled up fists. Climbing unsteadily to her feet and gripping Willow's hand in her own, Buffy turned full circle in order to survey the remnants of downtown L.A. Her mouth dropped open in astonishment and horror.

"Whoa…" was all that Willow managed.

The sidewalks were deserted and the once majestic buildings that lined the streets were veritable ruins. Shards of glass, pools of crimson, and even bones littered the ground. Massive craters marred the surface of the road, which was devoid of any working vehicles. Only the charred shells of abandoned cars and delivery vans remained, some with the rear doors hanging open and goods paused on the upper platforms as though their drivers had been disturbed in the midst of unloading.

"It's so…" Willow tried but faltered, unable to find adequate words to describe the scene of devastation before them.

"Empty," Buffy offered after a beat, just needing to fill the silence yet painfully aware of how insufficient the word seemed.

Willow nodded a response. Her eyes were trained upon a dirty object that lay on the tarmac at her feet. Using the toe of her boot, Willow gingerly rolled the thing over in order to examine it better. She felt the vomit rising in her throat as the realisation dawned upon her; a severed human hand, possibly that of a child.

"Oh God," Willow yelped as she leapt backwards, wide eyes affixed on the limb.

"We got bigger problems right now, Will," Buffy mumbled, her nails digging into Willow's forearm as a deafening rumbling sound resounded throughout the streets. The two women clung to each other for support as the ground began to tremor and they were almost thrown off balance again.

Willow and Buffy turned their faces in perfect unison to the sky, which seemed to be darkening in hue with each passing second. The clouds rolled by at an impossible speed, and the Slayer and the witch watched as all traces of bright blue were replaced by a foreboding gray that leaked across the sky like spilt ink.

"The energy field…" Willow shouted, her tone betraying the panic that had seized her, "Buffy, it's a trap. They're putting the field back up."

Buffy heard her friend but only barely. She was too busy gazing into the atmosphere at a large object hurtling towards the spot where they stood. Buffy pushed Willow to the ground, grunting in slight pain as her elbow slammed against the ledge of the curb. The air around them was filled by a whistling sound akin to nothing that Buffy had ever experienced before. Realisation finally dawned upon the pair as a flaming piece of rock struck the ground to the side of them, fracturing the sidewalk slightly upon impact.

"Fire and brimstone," Buffy said darkly. She was on her feet in less than a second, her hand outstretched to Willow, whom she wasted no time in shepherding under the cover of a nearby shop awning. The women huddled together, watching in hushed awe as the rain of flaming debris fell from the sky.

"I think we made a mistake," Willow whispered. At her side, she felt Buffy squeeze her hand in reassurance. That was when the second voice interrupted their reverie.

"I think you're right, witch."

Buffy spun on her heel, both fists already raised and poised in defensive manner. Willow instinctively dropped back a step behind the Slayer, already beginning to mutter under her breath to formulate a helpful spell. Six vampires stood framed in the broken window of the store that Buffy and Willow had fled to. The creatures grinned, some already chuckling softly, as Buffy whipped a stake from her back pocket and raised it aloft.

That was when the screaming began.

An unearthly shrieking that rose up around the group in a cacophonous din. The noise was excruciating and Buffy gritted her teeth against the pain that filled her head. Behind her Willow had ceased chanting and was writhing on the ground with both hands clapped against her ears to block out the sound. Only the vampires seemed unperturbed.

The stake clattered from Buffy's fingers as the shrieking rose in both intensity and pitch. The Slayer felt as though her entire head would explode, and began clawing at her face with her nails, not caring that she was raking bloody lines down her cheeks. When the sound had reached fever pitch and Buffy had sunk to her knees, her vision obscured by involuntary tears, the first vampire struck.

A single, vicious backhand blow was all it took to knock Buffy to the floor in her disorientated state. The vampire straddled Buffy and leaned in so close to her face that she could smell the must on his clothes and the staleness of his breath. She would have been full of witty quips regarding personal hygiene and the undead had she been able to form a coherent thought. Still, the screaming continued, rendering both Slayer and witch helpless against their attackers.

Buffy could not discern what the vampire hissed as it lowered it's open maw to her throat, but she was so close to the brink of unconsciousness that she hardly cared. She simply found herself longing for the inhuman screaming to end. The vampire's kiss would almost be welcome.

Suddenly, despite the wailing and the painful pounding of blood in her temples, there came a clarity. Buffy's eyes snapped open and she was shocked to see the vampire who had been poised to taste her sailing through the air like a rag doll.

A voice pierced the haze, measured but irrefutably dangerous.

"Get away from her."

For just a moment, Buffy's heart ceased beating. Angel.


	7. Chapter 7

_**All Grown Up - VII**_

'_The key to growth is the introduction of higher dimensions of consciousness into our awareness' - Lao Tzu_

_**Los Angeles border**_

Giles had covered a distance of some metres by the time he realised that Dawn was no longer at his side. Nor was she fleeing in his wake.

The Watcher groaned inwardly, hoping that the girl was not attempting to rush to Spike's aid and risking her own safety in the bargain. Giles reluctantly drew to a halt and turned back to face the border, his heart hammering against his ribcage as a million possibilities of what he may see flashed through his mind. Many ended with Dawn lying bleeding on the ground. However, it had failed to register in his consciousness that the gunfire had now ceased, and the only sound penetrating the near stillness of the evening air was the vampire's continued cries.

Dawn stood barely a few steps ahead of Giles, a look of pure concentration etched across her pretty features. Her head was tipped ever so slightly to the sky, right hand outstretched with fingers splayed and held taught in the direction of the soldiers.

Before Giles could fathom what the Slayer's little sister could possibly be attempting to achieve, he realised that the troops ahead had lowered their weapons and were staring at Dawn as though awaiting instruction. Dawn's lips moved only slightly but with a speed that made it impossible for Giles to ascertain her words. After a moment's pause, the infantry continued to mill around the area, their collective demeanour portraying that every trace of a threat had now been removed. Giles stared at Dawn aghast. He had little time to comment, however, as Spike barrelled towards them, his body still smouldering.

The evening sun was just beginning to retreat below the horizon, which afforded Spike a few extra minutes before he was engulfed entirely by flame. However, both Giles and Dawn knew that they had little time to herd the vampire into shelter, and no apparent shelter in the near vicinity to herd him _to_.

Dawn seemed to slump a little, perhaps drained by the magnitude of the spell she had just weaved, but nonetheless she jumped into action as Spike approached. Dawn and Giles shrugged their jackets off, piling them over the vampire in an effort to block the suns rays.

"Argh… bloody buggering hell!" Spike yelped, his piercing eyes momentarily flickering to Dawn's face. The girl seemed to flush a little at his attention.

"Giles, we have to find shelter," Dawn said desperately, her head whipping in every direction as she scanned the area for Spike's saving grace.

The gunning of a car engine drew all their attentions to the highway. The rental minivan rumbled towards them at a rather alarming speed, piloted by Hayley, a potential who had originated from England and joined the school a little over eight months ago. Giles believed that the girl had yet to attain her license, a fairly safe assumption from the way the van careered towards them straddling both lanes. The other three potentials contained within squealed in a very un-Slayer-like manner.

Giles, Dawn, and Spike, whose entire left hand was now alight, rolled out of the way of the van as it screeched to a halt in the spot they had occupied less than a split-second before.

Still regaining his composure, Giles stood and moved around to the drivers side door. He did not speak, although the look he shot Hayley was enough to make her scoot over to the passenger seat, eyes downcast and cheeks blazing.

"We thought you might need some help, Mr. Giles," offered Ruthie, the youngest of the group at only fifteen. She smiled at Giles hopefully, awaiting a morsel of praise for their actions.

"You were taking a while," Hayley mumbled, clearly seeing the need to defend her poor driving skills and the employment of them in the van that had cost Giles near to a thousand dollars to rent.

"Well, as it happens," Giles began, doing his best to maintain an angry tone. He faltered, noting that Hayley shied away from him timidly. Giles allowed a smile to dissolve his stern expression, and patted the girl's knee.

"As it happens, we did need assistance," Giles finished, beginning to execute a three-point turn with more concentration than was truly required. "Thank you, girls."

The four potentials beamed in pride. Even a shred of commendation from a former Watcher was a thing to be celebrated.

Dawn had already bundled Spike into the back of the van, and was busily attempting to extinguish the flames that lapped at his hand with her jacket. Fortunately, the tinted windows offered Spike the protection he would require until the sun had set completely. Once the minor blaze had been put out, the four potentials leaned over in their seats in order to gaze in interest at Spike, who lay on his back panting heavily.

"Erm, why is there a vampire in our van?" Hayley stammered, evidently confused. Sonya, the only one among the group not fluent in English, recognised the single word and instantly whipped a stake from her back pocket in order to act upon it.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa love!" Spike choked, his eyes widening in fear as the tip of the stake plunged towards his chest cavity.

"Nein!" Dawn shouted in haste, waving both hands in Sonya's face and relaxing slightly as the potential slowly but suspiciously lowered the weapon. Dawn shot each girl a pointed look, and reluctantly the potentials turned around in their seats, affording the two some privacy.

"Well, hello there, little bit," Spike drawled, grinning lopsidedly up at Dawn. There was a long, heavy pause, and then Dawn slugged the vampire hard in the mouth.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" Spike demanded, his anger mounting as he distinctly heard Giles chuckling in the front. Ignoring the Watcher for the time being, Spike glared up at Dawn, who was returning his stare with equal venom. The vampire swallowed hard, suddenly nervous.

"Drop the cute nicknames, Spike," she hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously, "I'm not a kid anymore."

Slowly, Spike nodded, and a wide grin spread across his somewhat bruised face. He felt a slight thrill course through his body as he regarded Dawn Summers. She had been a child over a year ago when he had left the Scoobies behind, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover that, at seventeen years old, she had blossomed rather impressively into a woman who was every inch worthy of being called the Slayer's blood. The punch had even hurt.

Well, a little.


	8. Chapter 8

'_**Angel' and Demons - VIII**_

'_**You're not alone, together we stand,**_

_**I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand,**_

_**When it gets cold and it feels like the end,**_

_**There's no place to go you know I won't give in'**_

_- Keep Holding On by Avril Lavigne_

Buffy forced herself into a standing position, her palms pressed firmly over her ears in an attempt to block out the relentless screaming. She shot a concerned glance at Willow, whose eyes were almost rolling into the back of her head. The witch continued to writhe in agony on the ground, unable to be of help to either herself or her friend. Buffy knew they had to reach cover as soon as possible but she figured the group of vampires had an entirely different agenda in mind. For the time being, she somehow had to find a way to help Angel.

The vampire stood almost in the centre of the road, seemingly unconcerned by the fiery storm that raged around him. Buffy could barely tear her gaze away from her former lover, who had appeared at her side like an apparition from the shadows.

The remaining vampires wasted little time in rushing Angel, and almost instantaneously his chiselled features submitted to the demon residing within. Buffy felt her knees tremble a little as Angel's brow protruded, and his dark eyes suddenly glowed with an extraordinary yellow hue. A low growl escaped his throat and Angel bared wicked fangs at his adversaries.

He moved with stunning precision and inhuman speed, a veritable blur as he landed a series of punches against the body of the first vampire to reach him. The demon's torso had begun melting into ash before he had even hit the ground, a consequence of the shard of broken timber Angel had rammed into his heart. Angel had dispatched two more vampires before Buffy had even begun to collect herself. In all the years they had fought side by side, the Slayer had never seen Angel so focused, so intent on his targets- so deadly.

Buffy winced as Angel seized the vampire who had prepared to bite her by the throat and, without flinching, ripped his head from his body. Angel tossed the head into the air, shielding his eyes with one arm as it exploded into a cloud of ash. He turned to regard the remaining two vampires, raising his jaw almost defiantly to the sky and releasing a roar that succeeded in kindling fear in even the Slayer's heart.

Her hands still poised to defend her ears, Buffy leapt at the larger of the two vampires in a spinning roundhouse kick that slammed his meaty body into the tarmac. Buffy was astride his chest within a second, and had pulled a stake from her waistband and used it to dust the vampire in less than several more. However, to do so Buffy had been forced to remove her hands from her ears, and thus was once more assaulted by the terrible shrieking.

The surviving vampire surveyed both Angel and Buffy before breaking into a run that led him in the direction of the city centre. Angel, his lips set in a grim line of determination, snatched the stake that Buffy had employed only minutes before, and pursued the vampire for several feet. Suddenly, the vampire froze, and as it exploded before her eyes Buffy realised that Angel had launched the stake into it's back from where he stood. Satisfied that the danger had for now subsided, Angel turned his attention to Buffy.

Her heart leapt into her mouth as she felt Angel's inhuman gaze boring into her. A moment passed between the two and the air in the immediate vicinity crackled with a visible electric charge. The features of the vampire melted away, leaving Buffy in the company of the man. Their eyes locked but the two remained unblinking and unmoving, one barely breathing and one not at all.

Pulling herself from Angel's apparent thrall, Buffy's eyes snapped to Willow, who appeared to have sunk into unconsciousness. Without uttering a word, Angel gathered the redhead's limp body into his arms and took off running towards a nearby manhole cover.

Buffy was left with no other choice than to follow.


	9. Chapter 9

_**The Lazarus Phenomenon - IX**_

'_Every parting gives a foretaste of death; every coming together again a foretaste of the resurrection' _

_- Arthur Schopenhauer_

_**The Early Bird Motel**_

"So, who exactly is this Spike guy?" Ruthie pressed, laying the magazine she had been pretending to read on the nightstand at the side of her bed. Apparently, she could no longer contain her curiosity. Dawn groaned and her fingers hovered momentarily above the keys of her laptop as she debated whether to simply ignore the young potential she had been forced to share a room with. The girl had already been the cause of much irritation following an earlier incident involving a pressurised can of orange soda and Dawn's newest blouse. Dawn was beginning to realise how much of an annoyance she must have proven to Buffy over the years, and made a mental note to repent as soon as she and her sister were reunited. Whenever that may be.

With a sigh, Dawn turned to face Ruthie, who was sitting cross legged in the centre of the single bed and gazing expectantly at her.

"He's just a vampire with a soul," Dawn said simply, shrugging as though it were really no big deal. Ruthie's mouth dropped open and Dawn resisted the urge to throw an 'M & M' in the direction of the gaping void. She hoped that her explanation, despite its simplicity, would close the discussion once and for all. Throughout dinner she had been forced to suffer the potentials chattering excitedly about the new 'hottie' vampire that Giles and Dawn had retrieved from the border. It had not taken long for her to grow tired of the juvenile prattle and talk of Spike's 'rock hard abs', thus she had escaped to her room to enjoy her portion of fried chicken in peace, only to be followed mere minutes later by Ruthie.

"Another one?" Ruthie demanded, "I mean, I thought that Angel guy we came here to help was a vampire with a soul?"

"He is," Dawn countered with as much patience as she could muster. For reasons unbeknown even to herself, Spike's reappearance had ignited a burning fury within her. She had barely found herself able to look at the vampire, much less actually converse with him. Sensing her unexplained hostility, Spike had obliged her by staying out of her way. He was currently holed up in his own motel room, no doubt cleaning his wounds and running up a cable bill that would melt Giles' credit card.

"He died in Sunnydale," Dawn explained, returning her attention to the laptop and stabbing at the keyboard with a little more vigour than was necessary. "I guess now he's back."

"So I take it you didn't know?" Ruthie inquired, her lips twisting into a delighted smile. "And that's why you're so pissed?"

Dawn's head whipped round and she glared at the girl angrily.

"No, I didn't know, and I don't care either," she spat, her tone and watery eyes betraying her, "and I am not pissed."

"Gees, sorry," Ruthie retorted, rolling her eyes and leaning forwards in order to swipe a handful of Dawn's candy. Dawn batted at the potential's hand, but the young girl's developing Slayer reflexes were too quick for her adversary, who was left with an half empty candy wrapper. Ruthie grinned before tossing several of the sweets into her mouth at once.

"So you think Buffy knew?" she asked through a mouthful of candy after the ferocity of Dawn's stare had subsided a little. Dawn let out a strangled scream and whirled around to face the potential.

"When are you going to grasp that I just don't care?" she demanded, slamming the lid of her laptop closed and rising to her feet. She hastily pulled a cardigan over her pyjamas and stalked towards the motel room door. Her hand gripping the doorknob, Dawn shot a glance at Ruthie.

"Touch my laptop, and I will kill you," she promised, emphasising each separate syllable in her threat. Ruthie giggled and rolled her eyes as though nonplussed.

"You and whose army?" she taunted, twirling a strand of auburn hair around her index finger. "Super slayer strength, remember?"

Dawn narrowed her eyes, murmured something indistinguishable under her breath, and exited the motel room. The door slammed shut behind her as though closed by an invisible hand, and Ruthie could immediately be heard shrieking shrilly. As Dawn had excited the room, she had employed another smaller charm that Willow had taught her during one of their many private sessions together back at the school in Rome.

"Can't use the laptop if you don't have any electricity," she said, smirking with satisfaction as she patted her bulging pocket, into which she had also slipped the computer battery.

Laughing softly to herself, Dawn approached the soda machine located in the now deserted motel lobby and slipped what little change she had left into the coin slot. The machine whirred into life after several moments pause and Dawn chewed on her bottom lip as she prepared to make her selection.

"That stuff will rot your teeth you know, nib… Dawn…"

Dawn's shoulders immediately tensed and her heartbeat picked up pace a little. She made a point of choosing her soda slowly and silently, and had collected the can and popped it open before she finally turned to regard Spike.

He was leaning against the wall of the lobby with one foot flat against the scuffed paintwork and a glowing cigarette end dangling from his lips. Dawn watched entranced as a small pile of ash dropped from the butt and smouldered in the carpet. She bristled a little, inexplicably irritated by Spike's lack of consideration for his current environment. The motel would never be appearing in _Tourism Today, _but it was someone's livelihood, after all. Dawn tried to ignore the fact that the particular 'someone' was an overweight, balding ex-New Yorker who had charged them double the usual rate for each room as a consequence for showing up without reservations, and then handed them their own linen with which to make up their beds.

Spike offered a tentative smile to the girl, who folded her arms across her chest in response. The moonlight that spilled in through the window caused the vampire's platinum hair to almost shimmer, and bathed his high cheekbones in an eerie light. He seemed virtually skeletal, definitely not as burly as Dawn had always remembered him to be. Perhaps it was merely the fact that she had done much growing up since their last encounter, and was now far less easily impressed by the more shallow qualities in a man.

"Come on, Dawn," Spike tried, finally removing the cigarette from his lips and flicking it through the open window, "is this because I didn't tell Buffy I was alive?"

Dawn's cheeks grew hot, and she sipped at her soda to avoid answering the question.

Finally she responded, "Not everything is about Buffy."

To her surprise, Spike laughed somewhat bitterly, and then nodded.

"Don't I bloody know that," he said, shaking his head and running his hand through his hair. He looked like he was on the verge of lighting another cigarette, so Dawn hastily thrust her can into his hand. She had always despised the pungent scent of tobacco smoke.

The vampire arched an eyebrow before sipping at the liquid slowly. Of course he could not taste anything, but he enjoyed the sensation of the bubbles in his mouth for a while before swallowing.

"Why, Spike?" Dawn asked softly as he handed back the can. Spike straightened up and forced a smile, which he instantly regretted as Dawn's temper seemed to flare as a direct response to the gesture.

"Because not everything is about Buffy," he repeated. Dawn blinked in surprise, never having expected her own barb to be employed against her.

"What…" she faltered, unsure of herself suddenly. It bothered her more than she would like that she had not known of Spike's resurrection, or yet received an explanation as to why he had chosen to keep it a secret from those who had fought by his side in Sunnydale.

Spike sighed and his crystalline blue eyes locked on Dawn's. She grew silent, and her demeanour seemed to relax if only a little. Spike sensed a power within the girl now that both intrigued and thrilled him.

"I couldn't have risked Buffy knowing," Spike said gently, the fingers of his right hand twitching nervously, "I'll always be grateful to the Slayer for getting me all en-souled, but let's face it, me and Buffy were a mistake. She never wanted me, she never really loved me, she just needed a taste of something darker than usual."

Spike offered Dawn a wry smile, which she returned for the first time since their reunion.

"I did more good in L.A. with Angel than I could have ever done mooching around Rome in the Slayer's shadow. I couldn't risk her asking me to go there, because I guess I would have," Spike finished with a little shrug, unashamed of his admissions. Dawn nodded, understanding if just a little.

"Do you still love her?" Dawn asked, her voice a whisper. Spike seemed taken aback, but he answered with a chuckle.

"Is Oprah on a diet?"

Dawn shook her head in exasperation, her gaze becoming imploring.

"Are you still _in_ love with her?"

There was a long pause that seemed weighty and uncomfortable as Spike searched for the right words. He ran the tip of his tongue across his lips as he contemplated his answer. Dawn sipped at her soda, maintaining an air of nonchalance as best as she could.

"No, I'm not," Spike finally replied. Dawn reeled a little from the revelation, shocked by the rather blunt yet honest response. She sensed that there was much that Spike was leaving unsaid, but for the time being she resolved not to press him. After all, he was going to live forever.

Dawn simply nodded then proceeded to drain the remnants of her can. She tossed her litter into the garbage and stifled a yawn with the palm of her hand.

"Ok, well, goodnight then," she said, smiling at Spike- the first genuine smile he had been awarded since crossing the border from L.A.

Dawn started towards the direction of her room, and Spike felt a sudden stab of reluctance to let her go.

"Dawn!" he called, crossing the distance between them in two strides as Dawn turned to face him once more. She gazed levelly up at the vampire, who found that remarkably his palms were sweating.

"Just wanted to say… goodnight," Spike finished lamely. He leaned forwards, his poise a little awkward, and placed a gentle kiss on Dawn's forehead. She smiled and walked away wordlessly.

Spike pressed his back against the wall, and slid down to the floor, his knees curled into his chest. All the while he kept his eyes trained on Dawn's retreating figure.

All the vampire found himself capable of managing was a single word.

"Whoa!"


	10. Chapter 10

_**Underground - X**_

'_**Halo, blinding wall between us,**_

_**Melt away and leave us alone again,**_

_**The humming, haunted somewhere out there,**_

_**I believe our love can see us through in death'**_

_- Like You by Evanescence_

_**Los Angeles**_

Angel plunged into the open manhole seemingly without caution and had barely landed in the ankle-deep stagnant water below before he took off running again. Willow's arm dangled limply from her side but, despite appearances, the vampire took every care to ensure that the woman in his arms remained unharmed. Angel moved fluidly and almost faster than the eye was capable of detecting, but all the while he kept a firm grip on his unconscious charge.

Buffy also neglected the ladder rungs that were positioned on the wall and instead jumped, trusting in Angel's judgement. She landed on her feet and immediately reached up to pull the manhole cover back in place. Mercifully, the action served to blot out the inhuman wailing and Buffy found herself able to remove her hands from her ears. She breathed a sigh of relief as only the soft squeaking of sewer rats and the faint trickling of water effected her hearing.

"Angel, wait up," Buffy called, snapping back into action and wading through the tunnel to where Angel now stood a few yards ahead. The vampire gazed upward and sniffed at the air before decisively inclining his head towards the entrance of a second tunnel. He was clearly tracking something, following a scent that Buffy's nostrils would never be able to detect. The Slayer walked behind, momentarily saving her barrage of questions until they had arrived at Angel's intended destination.

"This way," he instructed softly. His eyes dropped to Willow, who was stirring in his arms and beginning to murmur quietly.

"Will she be…?" Buffy began, glancing fearfully at her friend, finding herself unable to force out her concerns.

"Fine," Angel interjected. The Slayer glanced at Angel sharply, not caring for the sullen tone he was using to address her.

"I told you not to come here. I warned you," Angel all but snarled, his piercing gaze affixed on Buffy's face. Her mouth dropped open into a small 'o' of surprise.

"The dreams?" she asked, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing. Angel simply nodded.

"We're almost there," he said after a moment's pause, almost but not quite succeeding in softening his tone. Buffy nodded and continued in Angel's wake. She kept her head bent low, not wanting to meet his gaze again.

They followed the sharp bends of the tunnel for a distance that Buffy estimated to be little under a mile before Angel drew to a halt and turned to face the wall at his right hand side.

"What are we…?" Buffy began, evidently puzzled. Angel ignored her and Buffy could not help but feel stung. After all, she had risked her life to come to L.A. and save him, surely that deserved a small degree of thanks even though he had ended up being the one to save _her_. She comforted herself with the notion that there was plenty of time to repay that debt.

The Slayer pursed her lips, her expression sour, and folded her arms across her chest as she waited for Angel to make his intentions clear. Supporting Willow's weight with just one arm, Angel reached forwards and ran his palm over the dank brick of the wall. His fingers hovered momentarily over one brick that had been sprayed with a luminous green star almost too small to detect, then he rapped somewhat rhythmically on its surface. Buffy stepped back, watching in amazement as the wall before her shifted until the bricks had pulled apart to create a doorway. Angel was forced to stoop as he crossed the threshold whilst the petite Slayer managed to do likewise remaining at her full height.

Buffy whirled around as the grating sound that signified the bricks returning to their rightful positions rang out once again. A sudden and overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia gripped Buffy, who stumbled further into the confined space they had entered and reached out her hand to Angel. Buffy was grateful when he took it and squeezed it so gently that she almost feared she had imagined the gesture.

They had entered a dimly-lit box room that housed a cot, a metal table and chair, and a bookcase that was filled to capacity with ancient tomes. The only light was provided by a handful of candles positioned in the corners of the room, and Buffy squinted as her eyes struggled to adjust to the veritable darkness. Angel moved rapidly towards the cot and laid Willow down, pausing to measure the witch's pulse before he turned his attention to Buffy.

"Angel…" she began, longing to resolve the issue of her appearance in L.A. as quickly as possible. Angel shook his head, silencing Buffy immediately.

"I begged you not to come," he murmured, avoiding Buffy's gaze as he lowered himself into the metal chair. He seemed deflated and even a little afraid. Buffy ached to shorten the distance between them, but for the time being remained where she stood.

"I thought they were just nightmares, Angel," Buffy explained, her voice containing more sorrow than she had realised she felt.

"But you would have come anyway," he lamented with a shrug, "it's what we do."

Angel ran the tip of his finger across the battered surface of the table and paused at a crimson stain that was unfamiliar to him. His vampire senses alerted him to the fact that it was not blood, but just thinking about the life-sustaining substance made Angel realise that he was ravenous. It had been more than four days since he had last eaten, yet he was still desperately trying to stave off his hunger. Despite over one hundred years practice after his soul had been restored, Angel had never quite grown accustomed to the taste of rats.

Buffy leaned against the wall and instantly regretted the action as she felt the damp seep through her light jacket. She straightened up hurriedly and shivered against the resulting chill that coursed through her body.

"Are you cold?" Angel inquired, climbing to his feet before he had received a response, his gentility suddenly overpowering his anger. He shrugged his black duster from his shoulders and encapsulated Buffy in it's warmth before she could protest. Buffy smiled thinly up at the vampire and momentarily relaxed into his arms. Angel did not withdraw his embrace, instead choosing to lay his chin on the crown of Buffy's head. He inhaled deeply, smiling as the familiar aroma of vanilla shampoo tantalised his nostrils.

Buffy took the opportunity of Angel's proximity to evaluate the vampire's appearance, which was hardly comparable to that of her nightmares. To begin with, his clothing seemed pristine, almost brand new. The cut of his black tailored pants and burgundy shirt hinted vaguely at a designer label, and Buffy wondered with curiosity if Angel had been looting. She almost giggled at the thought.

Buffy's heart fluttered a little in her chest as her gaze swept Angel's towering frame, and slowly her lips curled into an appreciative smile that was unbidden and more than a little embarrassing. Despite whatever horrors he had endured over the last six months, Angel looked better than Buffy had ever remembered him to. His chestnut hair seemed richer in colour than she recalled; his muscles more developed, and rippling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt with his every movement; and his eyes burned with a passion that Buffy had witnessed only once before, on that fateful night when they had first made love.

Buffy wanted him, and from the way that Angel now caressed the top of her arm with his fingers, she knew that he too longed for the warmth of her body beneath his own. Slowly, reluctantly, but resolutely, the two drew apart and exchanged guilty smiles.

"I'm sorry," Angel whispered huskily, his lips brushing Buffy's earlobe and sending shivers coursing down her spine. She swallowed hard, simultaneously adoring and loathing Angel's power over her.

"Me too," she replied meekly, her fingers tracing patterns across Angel's chest. She laid her palm flat over his heart, her expression suddenly mournful at the lack of rhythm beneath her fingertips.

Angel's thoughts immediately settled on the Shansu prophecy that he had signed away without a moment's pause for the benefit of a city that now lay in ruins around him. Sometimes, Angel wished he were capable of being more selfish, then perhaps his last chance at happiness would still lie somewhere within his reach.

"What are you thinking?" Buffy asked quietly, withdrawing her hand from Angel's body and instead using it to push an errant tendril of hair behind her ears.

"That it's wrong to feel so happy that you're here in Hell with me," Angel replied.

In the darkness of the room that had served both as Angel's home and prison for the better part of a year, the two champions regarded each other, both painfully aware of their obligations and their sacrifice.

Without another word, Angel gathered Buffy into his arms and pulled her roughly to him.

In the flickering candlelight, the Slayer and her vampire finally kissed.


	11. Chapter 11

_**The Killing Field - XI**_

'_**A choice is made of free will**_

_**Just like the choice to kill**_

_**In the speed of a moment**_

_**Life stands still, now you're standing in my killing field'**_

_**- **__Killing Fields by Slayer_

**_The Early Bird Motel_**

"What's it like there?"

Dawn's voice pierced Spike's consciousness and the vampire released an audible gasp as he sat bolt upright in his bed. A brief glance at the digital clock perched on the nightstand told him it was five in the evening, far too early for him to have considered rising of his own accord. Spike sighed and rubbed at his eyes more to delay Dawn's inquisition than to ward off fatigue. The several hours he had managed to steal had been more than enough to reinvigorate him.

Dawn hovered on the threshold of the doorway, her hand gripping the frame until her knuckles whitened. Spike could smell her fear.

"Where?" he asked eventually, realising that it would be both impossible and a little cruel to pretend that he had not heard Dawn's query.

"L.A." she replied, reluctantly entering the motel room and closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Spike smiled softly, delighted to find himself alone with the girl. The scent of her shampoo rolled off her thick chestnut hair in waves, and the low cut black shirt she wore over her jeans seemed to taunt Spike's fingers with his desire to caress the soft skin of her neck.

Spike hurriedly shook his head to dispel the forbidden thoughts, and affixed Dawn with a curious gaze instead.

"Did Giles send you in here?" he asked, suspicious of the old man's attitude towards him since his return. Spike knew that Giles had every right to be wary considering some of the previous years' events in Sunnydale, but Spike was reformed now and it angered him that Giles could not so readily accept that fact.

"Kind of," Dawn admitted, seating herself at the foot of the bed without invitation. Spike stiffened a little at her sudden proximity and deliberately leaned backwards so that his back rested against the padded headboard. In order to think clearly, he had to put as much physical distance between himself and Dawn as possible. This new effect she had upon him was highly disconcerting to Spike, who had only really experienced the demon lust with paramours past. However, his feelings towards Dawn belonged in an entirely alien league. Spike ached to touch her and had dreamed all afternoon of crushing his lips against hers, yet he was also overcome by the strongest desire to protect her, to keep her safe and to watch her flourish.

"So you're here to interrogate me then?" Spike demanded with a little more anger than he had warranted creeping into his tone. Dawn simply shrugged, neither phased nor intimidated.

"I guess so," she answered, smiling somewhat wickedly at the vampire as she added, "but this is kind of a new concept to me so I may need a little help."

Spike spluttered, language dying on the tip of his tongue. Eventually, he managed a nod, and Dawn began to look irritatingly pleased with herself.

"What do you wanna know then, love?" Spike sighed. He swung his legs around the side of the bed and blushed a little as he recalled that he had removed his pants before he had fallen asleep. Perhaps anticipating as much, Dawn had politely averted her gaze. She allowed Spike enough time to wriggle into his jeans before she turned once more to regard him.

"Is Angel still alive?" she demanded, wasting little time once she was satisfied that Spike was half way to becoming clothed. The vampire paused in his task of buttoning his shirt and glared at Dawn.

"You came in here to grill me on that raving poof?" he snarled, biting his bottom lip and using the pain to ground himself. "L.A.'s been sucked into Hell and you lot are _still _making Peaches your number one?"

Spike pursed his lips and slammed his fist angrily onto the surface of the nightstand, causing the mug that had stood on the edge to clatter to the floor. He had almost allowed his temper to get the better of him, but it would not do to unnecessarily subject Dawn to the demon within.

"No," Dawn bit back, rising to her feet and glaring at Spike, "I came in here to see if Buffy should have taken her Dust Buster into Hell with her, or if she actually stands a chance of finding Angel in one fully working piece. I want to know what's gone down in L.A. and if there's any way we can help Buffy and Willow get out alive."

Spike's anger subsided and he returned to his task of dressing in a more subdued manner. He found himself a little ashamed of his outburst, and his continuing jealousy of Angel.

"Last time I saw him he was alive," Spike finally replied, catching Dawn's eye momentarily. He expected her to look away, quickly and shyly as she would have done a year ago, but Dawn met Spike's gaze levelly.

"How long ago?" Dawn pressed, not fully satisfied by Spike's answer.

"Maybe three, four days," Spike replied, shuddering involuntarily, "gets a little hard to tell where one day ends and the next begins in Hell."

Dawn took a moment to digest this before launching into her next question. She was a relentless inquisitor, a quality that made her all the more admirable to the vampire.

"So why are you out here, if he's still in there?" she asked. Spike had been awaiting this particular question since his return, and guarded himself against the hurtful onslaught that would doubtlessly proceed his answer.

"Because I ran," Spike revealed, sinking onto the soft mattress and closing his eyes.

"You ran?" Dawn asked incredulously. In all the years she had known him, she had never believed Spike to so much as consider the option of retreat. Dawn shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, wondering what lay beyond the border of Los Angeles that was capable of instilling fear into even those hearts that did not beat.

"Like a little girl," Spike added, although his tone conveyed a distinct lack of humour. Dawn could almost sense the disgust and self-loathing radiating from the vampire, and she found herself frowning in response. She was still wondering how best to proceed with her questions when Spike spoke once again, this time in a low and morose tone that seemed strange coming from his lips.

"There were too many of them," Spike said, his eyes affixed on a spot on the carpet as he became entranced by a memory, "we fought them for a day. Gunn and Wesley only lasted an hour at most. It was brutal. Then the people started moving onto the streets from their houses, men and women and… they were trying to escape…"

Spike paused, sucking his breath in sharply on the back of his teeth. Dawn knew that it was an unnecessary action for the vampire to partake in, and presumed instead that it brought him some comfort. It was almost like watching a pantomime of living.

"They ripped them apart, still alive and screaming. Angel and I tried to stop them but there was too many and we had to fall back. They just kept coming, more and more, each one more bloody hideous and hungry than the last."

Dawn was listening rapt now, the fine hairs on the nape of her neck standing erect.

"We protected as many of them as we could, started herding them to the border, but when we finally got there…"

Spike fell silent and the seconds ticked by. Slowly, Dawn slid her hand across the duvet and brought it to rest on the vampire's knee. Spike shot her a grateful look.

"The force-field was already up," Spike continued, swiping at his eyes with his free hand in order to brush away the tears before they fell. Dawn pretended not to see, aware of Spike's need to remain unshakeable in her eyes.

"And then?" Dawn asked, hating herself for having to. Spike remained unmoving for a few moments before his voice picked up again.

"We made for the sewers. It was the only safe place we could think of," he said, shrugging as though it had been a simple matter. "We lost most of them on the way, but we managed to save a few."

"How many?"

After a beat, Spike smiled wryly, "Ten."

Dawn gasped, her hand fluttering to her mouth as the magnitude of the situation took hold of her. She felt unbearably nauseas and must have paled as Spike suddenly was at her side, allowing her to lean her body against his.

"From all those thousands of people…" Dawn began, shaking her head, "only ten?"

Spike could not have stood further silence, and felt the need to distract Dawn from her pain anyway.

"There were more in the sewers once we got down there. They were the smart ones who headed for the border before us and then underground when they couldn't get out."

"So that's where all the people are?" Dawn inquired, her eyes sweeping Spike's face. "They're living in the sewer?"

He nodded and found himself somewhat amused as Dawn wrinkled her nose at the thought.

"Beats being demon kibble," he reminded her, instantly regretting his misguided stab at humour as Dawn glanced at him sharply.

"You still haven't told me how you got out," she said, her eyes narrowing in an accusatory manner that Spike did not appreciate. Dawn withdrew her hand from his knee and folded her arms.

"Simple really," he replied, relieved that he had managed to finally reign his emotions in, "Angel and me took it in turns to scout the border, see if the old force-field had dropped, and I got lucky."

"You didn't go back for them?" Dawn demanded incredulously. To her chagrin Spike chuckled.

"I had no idea how long it would be down. Thought it was better to get out and call the cavalry. Suspected it was a trap for the Slayer or somethin', especially after the Dark Avenger decided to go strolling through her bloody dreams."

Dawn nodded, and after no less than a second had passed, she climbed to her feet again.

"Well, thanks Spike, you've been really helpful," she said, her tone betraying little. Spike stared after the girl, confused and irritated by the direction the conversation had taken.

"Wait," he called, jumping to his feet as Dawn turned to him, one eyebrow arched questioningly. "I'll er… see you later?"

Dawn silently slipped through the door, closing it behind her once again and plunging Spike into darkness. The vampire sighed and flung himself facedown on the bed, all the while fighting the urge to set himself alight with his Zippo.

With a growl, Spike muttered, "Women."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Guilty - XII**_

'_Guilt is the price we pay willingly for doing what we are going to do anyway' _

_- Isabelle Holland_

Willow had been awake for some time. She had been relieved to discover that the screaming had stopped and, despite the alien surroundings that greeted her eyes, a sense of calmness flooded her body almost immediately. She was safe for the time being she was sure, and in the company of friends. However, mere seconds later, Willow had been decidedly less pleased to discover the aforementioned friends locked in a clinch that threatened consequences worthy of the Hell surrounding them.

The Slayer and the vampire had leapt apart the second Willow had opened her mouth to utter the first syllable of protest. She had managed little more than a few guttural grunts, shock causing her to lose the ability to accurately form words. Yet Willow's fury was as palpable as Buffy and Angel's guilt.

The hours since had been endured in uncomfortable silence. Buffy sat in one corner of the room and Angel in another, both as stoic and petulant as scolded children. Willow reclined on the cot she had awoken upon and angrily turned pages in a book she was hardly even pretending to read. It seemed to Willow as though the years of practice Buffy and Angel had accumulated at reigning in their passion had suddenly been erased from their respective memories. She could only attribute this to the six months they had spent living in a kind of limbo, unable to contact each other and oblivious to their respective safety. Now, it seemed they were like recovering alcoholics with an open bottle of Bourbon grasped firmly in both hands; and Willow feared the temptation to taste what was forbidden would prove too great to resist. Buffy and Angel gazed at each other often with fevered expressions, guiltily glancing away whenever their eyes met. For some reason, this ignited Willow's anger even more so than the kiss itself.

Buffy curled her knees into her chest from her position on the floor and pretended to examine her fingernails as she hummed under her breath. Willow thought she recognised the tune, although the last time she believed she had heard it was at their senior prom several years ago. Rolling her eyes and sighing, she realised there was little doubt as to the thoughts that plagued Buffy's mind. Willow slammed the cover of the book closed and allowed it to fall from her fingers, ignoring Angel's doleful expression as the priceless tome hit the floor with a dull thud.

"I can't stand this anymore, guys," Willow said, her eyes blazing as she surveyed her friends. Buffy shrugged meekly, clearly too consumed by remorse to offer much else in response.

"I agree," Angel replied, climbing to his feet and holding his hands out before him as though in surrender. Willow hid a smirk, enjoying just a little the apprehensive look the vampire shot her as he approached.

"Maybe you should fill us in a little on what's been going on here, Angel," Willow suggested, folding her legs underneath her body and cupping her chin in her hands as she squinted through the relative darkness at Angel.

The vampire visibly relaxed and moved to lean against the wall opposite the cot. Willow watched him carefully as though afraid that the almost magnetic pull between the Slayer and vampire would prove too strong for either to resist. Willow slumped a little in relief as Angel crossed the room safely, and Buffy remained unmoving where she sat.

"We already know a little," Willow began, "we just need you to fill in the blanks."

Angel gave a curt nod and waited for the witch to continue, deliberately refusing to allow his gaze to stray to Buffy. Her face was angled to the floor, her hazel eyes remaining affixed and unblinking upon the concrete. Her rosy lips were pursed as though she were deep in thought, and Angel resisted the urge to shudder with pleasure as he remembered the soft and warm sensation of them massaging his own.

"So, abridged version?" Willow probed, breaking Angel's reverie and frowning reproachfully at the vampire as he blushed.

Angel cleared his throat before he spoke, more from habit than necessity.

"Gate to Hell opened, monsters and chaos ensued," he answered, folding his arms and meeting Willow's exasperated gaze. He was toying with her a little and enjoying it greatly.

"Those are the parts we knew," Willow replied caustically, refusing to rise to the bait. Angel could be highly infuriating when he so desired.

"What's out there?" Buffy interjected, her voice cutting like a knife through the tension. Clearly she desired to end the game and extract some actual answers from her former lover. "Besides Hell, I mean."

Angel paused, and then simply shrugged.

"Honestly, I don't know," he answered after a few moments of pause, "but whatever it is, it's a whole lot worse than anything any of us have ever seen before."

"It always is," Willow scoffed, flexing her right hand and watching with a grimace as blue sparks crackled between the tips of her fingers. "But there sure is a lot of dark energy in the atmosphere."

The seconds ticked by with yet another healthy portion of uninterrupted silence.

"What was that sound?" Buffy demanded, her thoughts returning to the keening she and Willow had encountered on the streets. Willow's entire body tensed at the reminder of the unfamiliar power that had rendered both she and the Slayer temporarily helpless against the attacking vampires. She mentally reproached herself a little for her behaviour, considering momentarily that she and Buffy now both owed their lives to Angel.

"The damned," Angel answered, his lips curling upwards into a bitter and humourless smile. "The souls of the humans who have been dragged to the pits of Hell and endured centuries of torture. The suicides, murderers… the souls of the un-baptised…"

Willow swallowed hard and, from across the room, Buffy released a strangled gasp. She knew that they were both dwelling on the same prospect; that the tortured cries they had heard were in part the souls of those whose only crime in life was the lack of a ceremony that even now seemed so wholly insignificant.

"So why doesn't it affect you?" Buffy asked, managing to find her voice whilst Willow still struggled beneath the weight of Angel's revelation. He simply shrugged, utterly desensitised by the previous six months and now only intent to press on with the mission at hand.

"You get used to it."

Willow hoped that she would never reach such a point that she would become deaf to the pain of so many.

"So, what do we do now?" Willow finally managed, aware that her voice was as pitiful as the candle flames in the gloom of Angel's refuge.

"We kinda barrelled in here without too much of a plan," Buffy admitted, finally consenting to smile and allowing her eyes to lock onto Angel's face. Angel returned her weak smile and his spirit soared a little as he heard Buffy's heart flutter in her chest in response.

"Well I guess we can't just leave," Angel answered, struggling to grasp onto even the tails of a plan, "the force field popped right back up not five minutes after you got in. Besides, there are too many people in these sewer systems for us to be able to round up and successfully evacuate."

Buffy nodded slowly, chewing on a strand of her hair as she pondered Angel's words.

"I guess Giles was right then," she said eventually, "I guess this was a trap. Someone… something, wanted me in LA, and now it's got me. I can't think it's gonna be too long before it starts calling me out."

"Perhaps," Angel replied coolly, hiding any discomfort he felt from Buffy's words. "But I sincerely hope you aren't suggesting we use you as bait."

Buffy wrinkled her nose at the expression, which was one she had come to loathe over the years of her time as Slayer. The word 'bait' evoked images of juicy pink worms dangling on hooks in her mind, and such images were ones she could currently do well without.

"I'm just suggesting that maybe we should wait for whatever wanted me here to come to us."

"Well we sure as hell aren't prepared to go to it," Willow replied, "and I don't even know how to begin taking down the energy field with magic alone, not even from the inside."

"Maybe not," Buffy said, a smile beginning to spread across her tired features, "but that field has to be coming from somewhere in the city."

"We find the source, we have a better chance of taking it down," Angel finished, nodding his agreement even as he spoke.

"And getting all these people out," Willow added, her mind lingering on the residents of the city who were unfortunate enough to remain within its limits. Buffy shot her friend a warm smile and nodded resolutely.

"We'll get them out, Will, don't worry," Buffy promised, relieved when Willow graced her with a responding grin. "First I guess we gotta do a little recon. Check all the places the field could possibly be run from. Will, what are we looking for here?"

Willow shrugged unhappily, "I really can't say. The source of the field could be a person, an object, even an animal. We don't have that much to go on… in a city this size it will be like playing a really confusing game of Where's Waldo when you've completely forgotten what Waldo looks like."

"Granted, not helpful," Buffy grimaced momentarily before continuing, "but I'd prefer to get everyone else out before we rumble with whatever has dragged us in. At least with the field down, we can retreat if we really have to."

Angel and Willow nodded their agreement. A feeling of relief swept through the occupants of the cramped room as the albeit somewhat tattered beginnings of a plan emerged. Willow hated feeling so unprepared and knew from experience that in this at least she and Angel were similar. Buffy was a more adaptable creature by far, and had often plunged headlong into danger completely unprepared yet emerged on the other side victorious, and relatively unscathed.

"When we find whatever this thingy is," Buffy began, focusing her attention entirely on Willow, "will you know?"

Willow nodded, although seeming somewhat reluctant to commit to an answer. Finally, she sucked in a deep breath before speaking in a rush, "I think so. There's so much energy and magic bouncing around this city, we should all be able to see it. No place on earth is capable of cloaking the amount of supernatural energy Hell brings with it, not even somewhere like Sunnydale. Something that's radiating a force that huge will be literally glowing… or at least, I think so."

Buffy nodded, more than satisfied to take Willow's largely speculated assumption on faith.

"So… now?" Willow inquired, dreading the response she knew she would receive. Buffy nodded, her jaw set in grim determination. She raised one finger steadily toward the ceiling and held it there, allowing her eyes to follow its ascent.

"We go back up."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Toy Soldiers - XIII**_

'_Ten soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head' - Euripides_

Buffy moved through the darkness with a practiced stealth. Angel was at her side, his cool fingers enclosed around her own, whilst a decidedly nervous Willow brought up the rear of the party. Neither the Slayer nor the vampire made a sound as they patrolled the deserted back alleys of the city, but Willow found that it took all of her focus to keep the noise of her footfalls to a minimum. The heels of her boots seemed to unintentionally locate every shard of glass and foil packet that littered the ground, and she had seriously begun contemplating going barefoot for fear she would sooner or later betray their presence.

"How you holding up, Will?" Buffy hissed, shooting a brief backward glance at her friend, who was busily picking her way across a minefield of debris. Willow shot Buffy a tentative smile and shrugged.

"Swell," she mouthed, refusing even to utter a syllable unless absolutely necessary.

Buffy nodded and glanced at Angel, who wore an uneasy expression that he hardly bothered attempting to mask. Buffy grinned despite the situation and dug Angel in the ribs. He visibly jumped and, as he massaged his chest, shot Buffy a questioning glance which she answered simply with an arched blonde eyebrow.

"So, any ideas on this field producing whosamawhatsit?" Buffy demanded, her gaze sweeping from Angel to Willow and back again. Both of her companions regarded her with similar expressions of embarrassed ignorance. Buffy shook her head and sighed before pressing her right shoulder once more against the wall of the building at her side and proceeding to slink down the alley. The passage was scarcely wide enough to allow two individuals to walk abreast and so Angel trailed in Buffy's wake whenever possible, slightly appeased by the fact that his position afforded him the opportunity to watch the Slayer's back.

As Buffy progressed through the alley, Angel found his eyes drawn to an altogether different region of her body that was swathed rather snugly in flattering blue denim jeans. Angel's lips curved into a lascivious grin, which left his features rather abruptly as he found himself suddenly stumbling. His hands shot out instinctively and his palms connected with the cold redbrick wall at his side. Angel recovered his composure quickly and turned to direct a glance at Willow, who merely peered back at the vampire with a smile. Angel was sure that his near tumble was not due to his own error in judging the terrain.

"Oops," the witch uttered, her fingers fluttering as her hand drifted to her mouth in a girlishly innocent gesture. As understanding washed over him, Angel blushed and swallowed hard. He cast his eyes downward and chose the safer option of scrutinising the ground.

Angel found himself almost running into Buffy as the Slayer halted suddenly without warning, every muscle in her body tensed as though she was poised to spring at any second. Behind him Willow also stopped and Angel became acutely aware of her heavy, almost laboured breathing on the back of his neck. He could taste her fear, and yet he knew beyond all doubt that Willow would remain unshakeable in the face of the battle that was to come.

"Buffy, what is it?" Angel demanded, his eyes frantically sweeping the perimeter. He drew back against the wall and assumed a defensive position, both hands raised before him in readiness for the attack. As seconds were lost to minutes, none came, yet Buffy remained rooted to the spot in which she stood. The breeze licked at tendrils of her hair and whipped it around her face like a golden fan.

"Don't you hear that?" Buffy demanded, finally turning to regard Angel and Willow. Angel remained motionless and strained his ears in order to pinpoint the sound that was troubling the Slayer. Somewhere in the distance, although he was unable to discern exactly how far, Angel could hear the faint smattering of rapid gunfire. He growled low in his throat and immediately his hand sought Buffy's. He heard her erratic heartbeat begin to steady somewhat as their skin connected and for whatever reason Willow allowed them the moment.

"Willow?" Buffy pressed. The witch simply shook her head, reluctant to admit that any sound emanating from the distance was being drowned out by the clamour of the damned souls that still plagued her ears. Upon returning to the surface, Buffy had seemed oblivious to the still resonating screams, perhaps so consumed by focus for their task that there was little room in her mind for anything else. After walking for some minutes with her teeth gritted and her hands clamped over her ears, Willow had been able to muffle the din within her mind somewhat. The shrieks had subsided to a dull chorus of sobbing and the occasional wail, which had crippled Willow's hearing significantly but allowed her to at least function. She felt as though she were attempting to listen to music underwater as she tried to pick out her friend's words.

"It's gunfire," Angel answered with confidence, his voice rising slightly in volume as he realised that they were likely nearing the scene of a fray.

Buffy nodded her agreement, chewing on her lip as she pondered the situation. Realisation dawned on her swiftly, and Buffy slapped a palm to her forehead.

"Damn it," she muttered, raking her fingers through her hair and beginning to pull it into a sloppy ponytail using the band she always wore on her wrist for such occasions. Angel could tell that she was anticipating a fight, and shot the Slayer a questioning stare.

"Soldiers parachuted into L.A. when the energy field was down," Buffy explained, rolling her eyes in evident disdain as she wondered what impact the military had possibly thought they may have on the creatures that roamed the city. Angel nodded, understanding Buffy's albeit limited explanation.

"We're going to help them?" Willow questioned, squinting at Buffy in apparent confusion. "But we need to find whatever's sustaining the energy field."

"We'll do both," Buffy promised, squeezing the top of Willow's arm in reassurance. "I can't just leave those guys to the slaughter. They have no idea what they're up against."

Willow considered this for a moment, knowing that this war was unlike any other these men had entered into before. She nodded her agreement and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger as she often did when anxious. Buffy noticed the tiny sparks of blue light that danced on the tips of the witch's fingers, and shuddered involuntarily.

"Let's go," Angel shouted before taking off into the distance, the tails of his coat flapping behind him as he moved at inhuman speed, "before there's no-one left to rescue."

Buffy plunged through the alley on Angel's heels, shivering a little as a thrill of exhilaration swept through her body. Willow broke into a run a few seconds later, panting as she pushed her body to its maximum capabilities. She soon found herself at least ten metres behind Angel and Buffy, and so slowed her pace just a little to allow herself to recover her breath. As they drew closer to the location of the battle, the gunfire grew louder and was soon accompanied by the fevered screams of grown men in the throes of gruesome deaths.

Angel ran out of the alley way and directly into the darkened street, which was dominated by a cinema complex on one side and a pizza parlour on the other. In the midst of the two buildings, four men stood bravely facing down two demons that Buffy could not recall having ever encountered before. The monsters stood on two legs, although were forced into a slightly stooped position by the weight of the giant pincers that served as their arms. They reminded Buffy somewhat of lobsters, although their legs and upper torsos were vaguely reminiscent of the human men they were currently attacking. Their skin was almost translucent, and Buffy thought that she could just about make out their internal organs working away within them. One of the creatures lunged towards a tall man decked out in camouflage gear, and in an instant his head had disappeared inside the demon's beak-like maw. His comrades screamed in a combination of rage and horror, and another round of bullets was emptied into the lobster demon's body. The man's decapitated corpse slumped to the ground and the creature turned it's attention to the remaining men. Hunger was the only emotion present in the monster's beady black eyes and, as it started towards the two men chattering shrilly, Angel launched himself at the thing.

Buffy instantly tackled the second creature, throwing her arms around it's legs and driving it to the ground. She had no weapons on her person and not the faintest idea of how to kill the creature, but since she could now see it's orange heart pumping away within it's chest cavity, she decided to try her luck at destroying it. Buffy rolled onto her side and grabbed a plank of wood that lay on the ground. At first, she used it to swing at the demon and deter it's advances, waiting for it to raise itself somewhat and allow her a clear shot at it's heart. Suddenly, it struck out at her with a giant claw, catching her stomach slightly. However, Buffy had already rammed the wood home, and the demon fell to its knees with it's beak and eyes wide open. It took only seconds to die, and Buffy wasted no time in sharing the information with Angel, who was embroiled in a fight with the second demon whilst the soldiers cowered behind a burnt out car. Buffy spied the bodies of at least two other men sprawled on the street, both decapitated and currently being fed off by several ravenous vamps. Clearly this was what the starving vampire population of Los Angeles had been reduced to.

Willow was in the process of dispatching the vampires, and Buffy pushed her sleeves up in preparation to aid her friend. She had almost crossed the street when something small darted across her path. Buffy paused, having been about to kick out at the thing, when she realised that it was a small and scruffy tabby cat. The cat peered inquisitively up at the Slayer and mewed, it's eyes large and trusting. Buffy was momentarily entranced, and found herself reaching down to pet the animal, who moved into the palm of her hand and purred loudly. It was then that Buffy noticed the collar around the cat's neck, or more specifically, the red nugget that hung from it. In the darkness, the stone glowed a warm amber colour, throbbing every second like a heartbeat.

"The forcefield," Buffy mumbled, reaching to pluck the piece of harmless looking rock from the cat's neck.

"Slayer," the cat hissed clearly, it's eyes flashing crimson as it swiped at Buffy's outstretched hand with it's claws. Buffy gasped and recoiled.

In an instant, the cat's body began to shudder and convulse, and the feline suddenly floated a foot from the ground, yowling in apparent pain. Buffy watched with horror as the cat's petite body swelled until the creature was the size of a tiger. It's orange fur shimmered and gave way to a coarse coat of black hair. As Buffy blinked, a pair of leathery wings erupted from the animal's sinewy shoulders, and fangs that would put a sabre-tooth to shame pushed their way out of the demon's upper gums. Buffy swallowed hard as the animal was set back on it's paws, which were now almost the size of Buffy's entire head. It surveyed her hungrily, all traces of it's previous intellect erased by the transformation. With a roar that shook the foundations of the buildings around them, Sage lunged for Buffy's throat.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Human - XIV**_

'_How much of human life is lost in waiting?' - Ralph Waldo Emerson_

_**The Early Bird Motel**_

The light rapping at the motel room door proved a welcome distraction. Dawn had been facing down the flickering screen of her laptop for several hours with her fingertips poised above the keyboard, demonstrating an eagerness that had long since evaporated.

Dawn had been scouring the online magic community for some kind of spell or charm capable of lowering the forcefield surrounding L.A. Her global contacts had produced little of value, and Dawn had quickly grown bored of various attempts to recruit her attendance at festivals and conferences that were of little consequence to her current life. Instead, Dawn had passed the last half hour she had intended to devote to research browsing home shopping sites and checking local cinema listings.

"Come in," Dawn called, closing the lid of the computer and drumming her fingertips on its surface. There was a moment of silent hesitation before the visitor pushed the door open and appeared on the threshold of the room. Dawn straightened up a little in her chair and noted with surprise that her lips had already formed an easy smile.

"Spike," she said, self-consciously yanking her glasses from her face as the vampire wandered into the motel room. Spike paused in the centre of the floor and jammed his hands deep into the pockets of his duster. His shoulders hunched over a little and Dawn noted that he regarded her in an almost coy manner.

"Just came to see if I could help?" Spike inquired. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and frowned as he added as an afterthought, "You wear glasses?"

Dawn's cheeks reddened and she nodded as she flung the offending articles across the desk. The glasses skittered to a halt on the edge of the table, scattering a stack of papers and pencils to the floor.

"Got them a few months ago," she explained, returning her attentions to the closed laptop and allowing her hair to fall in a curtain across her cheek that succeeded in obscuring her blushes. Dawn flipped open the computer lid once more and resumed typing in the search engine. She had been mortified to learn during a routine eye test that she required glasses and, for the most part since receiving the prescription, her vanity prevailed and the glasses remained buried in the recesses of her purse. It was only upon rare occasions of migraine or severe eye-strain that Dawn relented to their use.

Dawn gasped in surprise as she found Spike suddenly crouched at her side, her glasses held gently in one hand and his expression intent. Dawn almost held her breath as Spike extended his hands and slid the glasses onto the bridge of her nose, before leaning back on his heels in an appraising fashion. Dawn literally squirmed in her seat, uncomfortable with his proximity and embarrassed beyond all measure. She managed to reign in her blushes and was thankful for that at least.

"Well, I think you look…" Spike began after a pause.

"Stupid," Dawn interjected, her tone flat as she moved as though to remove the glasses once more. Spike caught her hands in his own as they lingered over the frames. His skin was ice cold to the touch yet Dawn found that, rather than prompting her to recoil, the temperature of his body sent a series of delicious shivers resonating throughout her own.

"I was going to say radiant," Spike replied huskily. Dawn's heart literally skipped a beat and her hands immediately fell into her lap. Spike shook his head and almost leapt to his feet, a far too enthusiastic smile spreading across his face. Dawn swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and regarded the vampire.

"So, can I help?" Spike demanded, bouncing on the balls of his feet in a clear display of nervousness. Dawn had never seen anyone so wired and, for just a moment, she was afraid. Then she remembered whose presence she was in and she found herself mirroring Spike's smile with ease.

"Actually, I'm tired of research," Dawn admonished. She pushed her hair behind her ears and stifled a yawn with the palm of her hand. For the first time, Spike noticed the dark circles that had formed under the girl's startling green eyes, and immediately felt a stab of sympathy for the burdens that had been placed on her shoulders. He knew that the fate of the entire world had rested with Buffy at a similar age but Dawn was no Slayer, and he could not help but feel that the expectations placed upon her sometimes were too great, although Dawn would never admit as much.

"Shall we do something… fun?" Spike pressed, one eyebrow raised questioningly. Dawn giggled, amused at the images her mind conjured as she attempted to decide exactly what a vampire's definition of 'fun' would entail. Spike adopted a hurt expression, which he hid quickly as Dawn frowned.

"Sure," she finally replied with a shrug. She knew that Giles would consider it wrong of her to abandon her research when she had failed to turn up a scrap of information, but Dawn's brain screamed relentlessly for just ten minutes absence from the screen of her laptop.

"What do you want to do then?" Spike demanded, rubbing his hands together gleefully like a child. Dawn shrugged.

"I was checking the local cinema schedule," she finally admitted, smiling sheepishly as though she expected to be scolded for her revelation. Spike nodded.

"Great, been ages since I went to the flicks," he replied, capturing Dawn's hand and hauling her to her feet with a tad too much enthusiasm. Dawn stumbled and suddenly found herself pressed against Spike's chest, his arms around her waist securing her. Their faces were now mere millimetres apart and Dawn was momentarily shocked by the intensity of Spike's gaze upon her. He reached out and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, moving slowly enough to allow her fair opportunity to protest. Instead, Dawn found herself nestling into the vampire's embrace with a contented sigh that seemed to surprise Spike greatly. Although undeniably cold, Spike's skin was impressively smooth, and Dawn found her own fingers wandering to brush against his sculptured cheek.

Abruptly, Spike cleared his throat and allowed his hand to drop to his side. Dawn reciprocated the gesture and freed herself from his arms, moving to stand a few metres away. The moment had been breathtaking and beyond anything Dawn had ever imagined for herself, but it was undeniably over and she was filled with a sadness that she had not anticipated.

"I think maybe I just want to stay here," Dawn said quietly, her eyes falling to the portable television set that stood on a dresser nearby. Her tone was tinged with a disappointment that Spike almost mistook for disgust. "Watch some TV, maybe take a nap."

Spike nodded wordlessly, simply watching as Dawn kicked off her shoes and curled up in the centre of the bed. She reached for the remote and kept her eyes expertly trained on the television screen as it crackled into life. An old black and white Western kicked into action, the sounds of pistol fire and horses filling the room.

"Do you mind…" Spike said eventually, pausing in order to proceed towards the bed, "if I stay?"

Dawn seemed surprised but to Spike's intense relief, not reluctant. She nodded and patted the space on the bed behind her. Spike clambered awkwardly onto the bed and sat cross-legged behind Dawn, who hesitated before finally leaning back against the vampire's chest. Spike stiffened yet Dawn seemed perfectly relaxed, even pausing to lift both of his hands and entwine them around her middle.

"Anything good on?"

When Spike spoke, his voice trembled and almost broke. Dawn allowed herself a brief and somewhat wicked smile. She was delighted, not only by the effect that she appeared to have on the vampire, but also by the butterflies that whirled in flight in the pit of her stomach as a result of his touch. These new feelings were overwhelming; unexpected yet not unwelcome.

They remained in a silence that was not entirely comfortable for an immeasurable time. Spike kept his eyes glued to the screen, but his attentions were focussed on the woman he held in his arms. The steady beat of her heart, the rise and fall of her chest, and above all her intoxicating scent. Spike rested his chin on the crown of Dawn's head, grinning as a wisp of her hair tickled his nose. He realised suddenly that Dawn had succumbed to sleep and was snoring gently, a trickle of saliva running down her chin from the corner of her lips. Spike chuckled and wiped at the drool with his thumb, knowing that upon awaking Dawn would be horrified.

Finally, he turned his attentions to the movie that was playing out on the television, and realised that it was one he had seen almost three hundred times before in his life. He watched regardless, as with Dawn in his arms, for the most fleeting of moments, Spike could almost believe that he was human.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Guardian Angel - XV**_

'_**I will never let you fall,**_

_**I'll stand up with you forever,**_

_**I'll be there for you through it all,**_

_**Even if saving you sends me to heaven'**_

_**- **__Your Guardian Angel by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus_

Instinct took over without a moment's hesitation and Buffy found her body moulded into the tarmac before her brain had really registered the creature hurtling toward her. A savage series of growls ripped from the animal's throat as it too late realised it's error and landed on all fours a metre clear of it's target. Buffy wasted no time in rolling onto her back and then propelling herself to her feet using the momentum of her legs as they whipped through the air.

Her breathing came in ragged gasps and her lungs burned with their desire for oxygen, but Buffy was too winded to comply with such demands. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Angel was running toward the unfolding fray, his features twisted in abject horror. Willow was preoccupied with the task of herding the shell-shocked soldiers back into the alley from which they had emerged. Buffy was faintly amused to note that the men had abandoned their rifles in the street, having finally realised the poor service their weapons would provide in such an environment.

"Nice kitty," Buffy panted, wincing at her own use of such a cliché. The cat-like creature threw back it's head and roared, simultaneously unsheathing it's claws. The ebony talons raked thick tracks through the concrete as easily as though it were sand. Buffy swallowed hard, for once finding herself apprehensive in the face of her opponent. She tried to derive comfort from the thought that she had faced more formidable foes in her time as the Slayer, yet there was something so disconcerting about this creature that Buffy found herself looking upon the forthcoming fight with a definite sense of doom.

"Buffy!" Angel snarled as the demon lunged once again, this time managing to catch her ankle in it's immense jaws as she attempted to side step. Buffy howled as razor-sharp teeth tore through layers of tissue and muscle. Wrenching herself free with difficulty, Buffy spun in an elegant pirouette and slammed her bent elbow down on the demon's snout. Bile threatened to rise from her stomach as she realised that the demon's fangs had indeed met bone.

The feline danced a few steps backward, shaking it's head and mewing like a helpless kitten. Buffy tested her weight on her mangled foot and inhaled sharply, almost folding to her knees as red spots began to swim in front of her eyes. Angel was immediately at her side and sliding his head underneath her right arm in order to support her. Grateful for his presence, Buffy sagged a little.

"We have to get out of here, back to the sewer," Angel said through gritted teeth. Buffy shot a glance to her side and noted that Angel had secured his own transformation. Buffy nodded and made a move to hobble towards the alley. The creature was before them in less than a second, swiping the air with paws that were capable of unfathomable devastation.

"What is this thing?" Buffy demanded, shrugging Angel away from her in order to assume a defensive stance. Angel adopted a similar pose at Buffy's side, both fists raised and knees slightly bent.

"Satan's kitty," Angel replied, no hint of jest in his tone. Buffy's eyes widened as she gazed at the animal, which snapped it's jaws in her direction in response.

"Okay," Buffy said simply, intelligent thought suddenly proving too elusive as a result of the burning in her ankle and the obscurity of Angel's statement.

Sage crouched low in preparation to strike, his ears flat against his head and his tail whipping dangerously from side to side. Buffy and Angel exchanged a glance that lasted only momentarily and then, with admirable dexterity, Angel leapt onto the creature's back, pinning it to the floor beneath his own weight. Sage yowled and thrashed at the vampire, who delivered several punishing blows to the demon's head whilst Buffy stumbled towards the alley mouth through the haze of her pain. She paused as a gleaming object caught her eye. Balancing rather precariously on her one good foot, Buffy reached down to pluck the remaining tatters of the collar from the ground. She realised that the stone was mercifully still attached as she clambered unsteadily back to her feet and limped on in a bid to escape. Ordinarily, she would be chagrined by the very idea of retreat, but Buffy was no fool and she had no need to examine her wound to know that there was a rather problematic tide of blood already flowing from it. Buffy's sense of self preservation pushed her body to the limit of it's capabilities as she staggered towards safety with her acquired prize clutched in her fist.

Buffy was feet away from the entrance of the alley when Angel's frenzied cries permeated the atmosphere. Buffy spun as best as her injury allowed and was greeted by the sight of the monster literally flying through the air towards her. The creature made no sound as it's body glided on a wind pocket with it's wings spread out to full span. As Sage neared, Buffy could clearly see the blue and purple veins that threaded through the creature's wings in an almost intricate manner.

Buffy hit the ground hard, her head slamming against the tarmac, and the impact of the fall momentarily blinded her. Sage perched atop Buffy's still form, roaring victoriously. Angel was on his feet and running full pelt once again, ignoring the deep scratches his shins had attained during his tussle with the demon. Even the vampire was not fast enough.

Angel could do little but watch in open-mouthed dismay as Sage ravaged the fallen Slayer, using his dagger-like claws to mar her torso with deep scratches. A scream rose in Buffy's throat yet seemed to end in an alarming gurgle as though consciousness was already escaping her.

Crimson pulsed at an alarming rate from the tears in Buffy's skin, saturating her clothing and pooling on the ground around her body. Buffy's eyelids fluttered as she teetered on a dangerous precipice. She appeared incapable of even noticing as Sage lowered his large head to the pavement and began lapping at the puddles of her blood. Sage's entire body rippled and he purred in satisfaction before returning his attentions to the luscious spoils already staining his paws. It was the meal that finally proved fatal to the creature as Angel suddenly made his appearance and, with an enraged snarl, ripped Sage's head from his body with seemingly as little effort as it took to snap a matchstick.

Angel stared aghast at the head in his hands, taken aback by his display of brutality and a strength that he had not known existed within himself. His intention had indeed been to break the creature's neck and halt it's attack, but upon seeing Buffy's scarred body he had found himself channelling the untested reservoirs of demonic power within him. Angel watched raptly as for a few seconds the creature's eyeballs continued to flit from side to side whilst the impulses in hundreds of nerve-endings perished slowly. When the demon was finally still and it's enormous body had collapsed to the ground, Angel dropped onto his knees at Buffy's side. He discarded the head carelessly, tossing it over his shoulder and hearing it land some distance away with a thud.

Angel clutched at Buffy's hand, his fingers desperately sweeping her wrist in search of a pulse. The weak thrum beneath Angel's fingertips brought a lump to his throat.

Silently, Angel gathered Buffy into his arms, wincing as the delicious scent of her spilled blood tantalised his nostrils. Of course he would never have tasted a drop, but he was disgusted with himself when he felt his stomach clench in hunger. Angel gripped Buffy's limp body tighter as her blood soaked the front of his shirt. He felt the cold wetness spread to the skin of his chest, and he knew beyond a doubt that the situation had become desperate.

The tails of his coat were buffeted on the growing wind as Angel stalked towards the alley where Willow waited, her expression fraught. Angel refused to meet the redhead's gaze as he brushed past her trembling body and set about retracing the route they had taken little over half an hour ago. The vampire had only one thing on his mind as he walked with all the purposefulness of an executioner approaching the guillotine and his next victim. He no longer cared about the fate of the damned city, or the people who remained within. Angel would even go so far as to label himself apathetic. Whether they emerged from Hell or not, Angel was resolute in one thing only; Buffy _would _live.

Brushing his lips against the Slayer's ear, not knowing whether his words would be heard, Angel whispered hoarsely.

"Hold on, my love."


	16. Chapter 16

_**Sins - XVI**_

'_One leak will sink a ship: and one sin will destroy a sinner' - John Bunyan_

_**The Early Bird Motel**_

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon and several hours of darkness had passed before Dawn's absence had been regarded by the other girls with an air of concern. Although baffled by Dawn's actual whereabouts, they were at least united in their explanation behind her sudden disappearance; Spike. The potentials regarded the newcomer to their midst with measured suspicion. Since his rescue from the border Spike had emerged from his room only to pester Giles for the next mug of animal blood, and done little to alleviate the girls' collective fears.

The favourite theory was that Spike's somewhat shaky self-control had finally been overwhelmed by his thirst and that Dawn, being the weakest of the band, had become his unwitting victim. Unable to resist the possible opportunity to slay, the potentials had set about scouring the hotel for Dawn's corpse or, better yet, the guilty vampire in question. Thirty minutes of peering through windows and exploring rooms behind doors that were marked 'private' in bold lettering had brought little to light. The search had unearthed nothing more than a couple of enraged lovers who had not relished an audience for their nocturnal acts, and a band of cleaners stealing sheets from the linen closet.

Momentarily willing to admit defeat, the girls had gathered in the lobby to regroup and pummel the vending machine until it spewed soda cans. Ruthie collapsed dramatically onto a sofa and coughed as the resulting cloud of dust invaded her lungs. Sonya perched on the arm of the couch by her side, wrinkling her delicate nose in distaste as she allowed her skin to brush against the aged polyester cushion. She cringed away from the touch of the fabric, almost as though the sensation of anything other than a designer cotton blend caused her actual physical pain.

"What now then?" Hayley demanded, furrowing her brow as she settled onto an adjacent armchair and popped open her free can of lemonade. She gulped down the entire contents of the soda without pausing for breath, and then placed it on the low table at her side before proceeding to crush it into a metallic disk with the palm of her hand. Hayley, like many of the young and inexperienced potentials in Rome, would never tire of the novelty of possessing superhuman strength. Such displays were commonplace among the girls, or at least those who had chosen to embrace their heritage. Those who did not preferred to aid Mr. Giles in the research process and, although fully aware of their promise, Buffy refused to push them into a life they would only grow to regret.

"I guess maybe we should search the place again?" Ruthie suggested, sighing laboriously at the thought. If the truth was known she was not overly fond of Dawn Summers, whose superiority complex and penchant for weaving spells on the potentials proved a bone of much contention.

"Again?" Jenny reiterated, arching an eyebrow and shaking her head vigorously. Her southern drawl intensified as her irritation escalated, "I'm not haulin' my ass round this God-damn motel one more time tonight for that littl'…"

Jenny trailed off as she received a pointed stare from Hayley, one of the very few girls to have developed a kind of comradeship with Dawn. They shared an unspoken understanding that afforded them a comfortable yet distant relationship. This was how both girls preferred it, neither one feeling the need to form the kind of bonds that many of the newer potentials seemed to pursue with desperation.

"Fine, fine, we'll look again," Jenny relented, scowling as Hayley nodded in smug satisfaction. More than anything, Jenny loathed being co-operative. Sonya peered with evident confusion at the girls surrounding her, clearly having understood little if any of the exchange. Ruthie rolled her eyes and poked the German potential in the forearm with a little more vigour than was absolutely necessary. When Sonya's attention was upon her, Ruthie mimed a repeated stabbing gesture and motioned to the lobby exit. Sonya nodded once but her even expression made it difficult to discern if she was indeed better informed of the plan.

"You don't think we should maybe tell Mr. Giles first?" Ruthie asked somewhat hesitantly, lowering her tone to a barely audible whisper. Unconsciously the three other girls leaned closer so that the crowns of their respective heads were almost touching.

"That stuffy ol' fart?" Jenny snorted with derision and shook her head. "What do ya think he'll be able to do about it? There's a stick shoved so far up his ass he's practically a popsicle…"

Jenny trailed off as Hayley coughed pointedly and inclined her head towards the lobby doorway. Giles stood framed in the moonlight, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket and his head cocked with interest. He wore an oddly disturbing smile that lacked any hint of amusement and rather indicated his annoyance at what he had overheard.

Jenny beamed unperturbed at the ex-Watcher, who simply arched a greying eyebrow in response. Giles adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and leaned against the frame of the door.

"Mr. Giles…" Hayley began as it became quickly apparent that Giles did not wish to break the weighty silence that had descended.

Giles sighed, almost weary, and affixed the potentials before him with an expression that managed to be both simultaneously stern and yet bored. This particular look was rather well refined courtesy of almost a decade of serving as Buffy's mentor.

"Girls," Giles said curtly, "I am rather disappointed, I must say."

Hayley and Ruthie visibly deflated, whilst Jenny simply responded with a shrug. Sonya's gaze ticked back and forth between Giles and the other girls, her mouth hanging open in an effective demonstration of her ignorance.

"How much did you hear?" Hayley asked, her voice small and meek. She was the more level-headed of the four girls chosen to make the journey to America, and Giles had thought on occasion that perhaps one day, in Buffy's absence, Hayley would make a fine leader. Hayley generally made a point to adhere to the rules that were laid down before the potentials, and appeared to respect the necessity for the boundaries that were set for her. Her own sense of morality only helped to steer her rather effectively towards a bright and promising future. Now that Giles was evidently displeased, Hayley was ashamed and embarrassed.

"Enough," Giles replied, resisting the urge to soften as Hayley gazed at him with wide, doleful eyes. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Giles strode into the lobby, pausing to shoot Jenny a frosty look. Finally, the southern potential lowered her eyes to the ground and curled her knees into her chest. Her cheeks flushed a little in a treacherous display of her own humiliation. The girls respected Giles for his knowledge of the occult and apparent wisdom regarding life in general, yet the temptation to mock his rigid demeanour often proved too great. Jenny was not the first potential to be caught in the middle of such an act but, with Giles' steely gaze upon her, she felt every bit as ashamed as if she were.

"Neither had it escaped my notice that Dawn appears to have been absent for the last few hours," Giles continued, pacing behind the row of occupied couches like a prison guard during evening rounds.

"You knew?" Ruthie asked, suddenly meeting Giles' gaze with an evident curiosity spread across her face. Giles nodded in reply.

"I was once a _Watcher_," he said, slowly and deliberately emphasising the most significant word.

"And you're not worried?" Jenny demanded, all traces of her previous embarrassment suddenly forgotten. Giles' head whipped round and Jenny instantly wished that she had not spoken. For, as much as she mocked Giles for his typically British composure, she had not failed to sense the air of danger that hovered over the man like a black cloud.

"Dawn is more than capable of looking after herself," Giles said with conviction, glancing at each one of the potentials in turn before continuing, "I may remind you that she has been involved in the supernatural world for more years than all of you here put together."

The silence prevailed once more until Giles consented to break it with a sigh.

"Now all of you, back to your rooms please, we have a long day of research and training ahead of us tomorrow."

Rather than a chorus of the usual groans and protestations, Giles was met with subdued nods. He watched carefully as the four girls abandoned their soda cans and sloped back to their motel rooms. He doubted that the discussion he had interrupted would be the final one of the evening but for the moment more pressing matters weighed upon his mind.

Giles sank gratefully into the near-collapsed armchair that was closest to his body, and cradled his face in his hands. It was true that he had observed both Spike and Dawn's disappearances some time ago, but the conviction of Dawn's safety that he had only moments before conveyed to the potentials had begun to dwindle in his mind. He did not want to contemplate even momentarily the conversation he may be forced to share with Buffy upon her return. Giles leaned back in the armchair and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling as though every one of his near fifty-years were creeping up upon him.

He could not be sure how long he had been asleep when the sound of stifled giggling hauled him back to reality. Giles removed his glasses and rubbed his bleary eyes before turning to gaze into the parking lot of the motel. Giles swallowed hard at the sight that greeted him.

Dawn had returned. She walked barefoot, although she carried a pair of stiletto heels in one hand and her jacket in the other, revealing the rather adventurous halterneck top she wore. Her smile was delighted and yet somewhat bemused as she strode arm in arm with Spike, who shot the girl equally thrilled glances with every few steps they took. Giles gritted his teeth whilst observing the scene. Dawn lingered just short of the doorway and, laughing softly, yanked Spike towards her body. He stumbled a little and then recovered, choosing to encircle Dawn's waist with his arms. All traces of laughter gradually died on their lips and the mood abruptly shifted, growing more tense and sombre as the seconds mounted. Giles resisted the overwhelming urge to declare his presence, knowing that for the benefit of Dawn's safety, this was an exchange he should bear witness to in secret.

Spike swallowed hard as he cupped Dawn's chin in both hands. Giles blinked rapidly, watching aghast as Spike lowered his lips Dawn, whose eyes were filled with hungry expectation. Somewhere in the midst of the kiss, her eyelids fluttered closed and she moaned a little in what Giles assumed to be ecstasy.

Giles finally tore his gaze away, hardly daring nor wishing to believe his eyes. His fingers dug into the cushion of the armchair with such force that the fabric groaned in protest. Dawn and Spike each seemed oblivious to anything more than the presence of the other.

"So… I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

It was Dawn that had spoken, her voice high and ringing melodically in a betrayal of her happiness. Relieved that the tryst had apparently drawn to a conclusion, Giles peered once again over the body of the armchair. Spike nodded and Dawn chewed on her bottom lip in an attempt to restrain a grin. As Dawn moved to depart, Spike's fingers lingered a little around her own and he shot the girl a near dazzling grin. Dawn returned to the vampire's side and was once again lost to him.

Having already seen more than enough, Giles slumped down into the armchair and closed his eyes. A few seconds later, the sound of two sets of footsteps echoing through the lobby signified that Dawn and Spike had begun the return journey to their rooms.

With the events he had just witnessed replaying in his mind, Giles continued to linger in the silence long into the dawn.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Immortal - XVII**_

'_**You used to captivate me by your resonating light,**_

_**Now I'm bound by the life you left behind,**_

_**Your face it haunts, my once pleasant dreams,**_

_**Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me.'**_

_- My Immortal by Evanescence_

Angel hovered uselessly- for it was all he could do since simply sitting by Buffy's side had become intolerable. The Slayer lay on a makeshift bed of rags and cushions, her skin pallid and beaded with droplets of sweat. Buffy's entire torso had been wrapped in crisp white gauze which had also served well to swathe her damaged ankle. Her ruined clothing had been discarded and instead a bed sheet employed in the preservation of her modesty. Willow now worked over the body of her friend, her eyes closed in concentration as her palms drifted above Buffy's hidden wounds. In the dim light of the sewer chamber, Angel could clearly see the sparkling sapphire droplets that rained from Willow's hands and seeped into the Slayer's bandages. The witch's mouth was set in a grim line, which did little if nothing to counter Angel's mounting fears.

Buffy had not stirred since they had arrived at the chamber, remaining locked in a surprisingly peaceful slumber. Angel was thankful for the morphine that they had been able to procure, knowing that the longer Buffy slept the harder her body would work to repair itself.

In the far corner of the chamber the remaining soldiers had gathered in order to discuss their best course of action. When his listlessness escalated, Angel honed in on their conversation and, from what he could gather thus far, the men were clueless as to how to proceed. Their indecision was further hindered by the fact that the highest ranking member of the party had been devoured by one of the part-lobster creatures. Angel chuckled softly in amusement at the stolen snippets of their rather ludicrous argument.

He grew silent and suddenly still as his senses alerted him to the presence of a warm body at his side. Angel remained unmoving until he felt trembling fingers begin to caress his lower arm. He turned and smiled down at the woman before him, who regarded him through frightened hazel eyes which were obscured somewhat by her tangle of brown hair. Her clothes hung from her body in tatters, the remnants of a pair of mauve hospital scrubs which were slashed completely open at the top revealing the jagged protrusion of her collarbone beneath her skin.

"May," Angel said in way of greeting, his tone gentle and warm as though he were coaxing an animal. The woman smiled up at Angel, although the corners of her mouth twitched and her eyes darted around the chamber in a display of her ill-ease.

"Angel," she said in reply, the word escaping on a breath, "how is your friend doing?"

Angel felt an immediate stab of pain as he glanced over at Buffy's motionless form; small, battered, and so seemingly helpless. With her honey-golden hair spread out in a fan above her head she had taken on an increasingly angelic appearance. Periodically, one or more of the band of soldiers would steal an anxious glance in her direction, and Angel knew that they too had fallen for the mysterious Slayer. They talked in hushed awe of the diminutive and beautiful woman who had saved them, fighting against the demons as well as any man in battle they had ever known.

"Willow's trying to accelerate her body's natural healing processes," Angel explained, his voice still quiet in order to soothe the woman, who appeared as though she may bolt at any given second.

"I did all I could," May replied, her tone dripping with earnest. She leaned closer to Angel, "Her right ankle isn't broken but there may be some muscle damage… something to check out if we ever... I sutured the bites and the deeper scratches. As far as I could tell that thing missed all her vital organs and major arteries… pretty lucky really… she lost a lot of blood but I don't have the right equipment for a transfer and…"

"May," Angel said softly, gripping the tops of the woman's arms and flashing her the most sincere smile he could muster, "thank you."

May relaxed a little and returned Angel's smile. She gestured somewhat tentatively with her hand towards Willow, who appeared still to be engrossed in her work.

"What… what is she?" May inquired, her natural curiosity overriding her fear momentarily. Angel laughed and shook his head.

"Human," he replied, "but I suppose you would call her a witch. She's not like those things, she's…"

"Good?" May interjected hopefully, never tearing her gaze away from the redhead with the enchanting impish features. Angel nodded once in response and May finally smiled.

It still amazed Angel how well the surviving humans had adjusted to this peculiar and alarming new world. He had met May several days after the initial attack on L.A. She had been one of the last to flee the streets, her devotion to her work proving too great to allow her to simply abandon her patients in their beds. She had been working as a nurse at one of the smaller local hospitals whilst attending night school to qualify as a doctor. When news of the demon hordes had eventually broken, May had stayed behind at the hospital in a noble yet somewhat misguided attempt to evacuate the patients. Of course, they had been slaughtered in the subsequent attack and May had barely escaped with her own life. Angel had found the woman wandering the streets in a near catatonic state. Upon finding herself in the sewer systems in the midst of so many wounded, she had been compelled to help. In truth, May had become one of Angel's greatest resources in the fight against the demons and, in the absence of Fred, Wesley and Gunn, one of his most trusted friends.

"I just can't…" May began, chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes drifted to Buffy's body, "anyone else… any _human_… they'd be dead by now. She lost a lot of blood."

The unspoken query hung somewhat uncomfortably in the air between them. Angel narrowed his eyes as he surveyed May, her arms encircled tightly around her own body. She trembled a little as she stood and Angel realised that she was afraid.

"She's special," he finally replied, his voice almost cracking. "She's here to help… to help me, and I let this happen."

May shook her head vehemently, and her hand darted forward, her cold fingers wrapping around Angel's wrist. Her strength was surprising given her stature and state of malnourishment.

"No Angel, you've saved so many people, and you saved your friend too. If you hadn't got her here when you did…" May trailed off, surprised by the intensity within Angel's eyes. Tentatively, she pressed, "She's more than a friend to you?"

There was a time when Angel would have seen fit to rebuff any such allegations, having discovered the devastating consequences of owning a more than professional relationship with the Slayer. Yet whilst Buffy's life teetered on a dangerous precipice, Angel found himself no longer able to refute his feelings. Despite his faith in Willow's abilities and Buffy's own strength, he naturally feared the worst and refused to commit that final, unforgivable betrayal of the one he loved.

"She's always been more," Angel murmured, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand in order to eradicate the tears that had yet to fall. "She just doesn't know it."

May squeezed Angel's wrist in a gesture of comfort before withdrawing her hand and jamming it into her pocket.

"Then I hope you get your chance to tell her."

Angel consented to smile as he watched May timidly approach the band of soldiers, determined to offer them what little hospitality she could muster. He returned his attentions to Willow, whose ritual appeared to have now drawn to a halt. The witch knelt on the floor at the side of Buffy's bed, clutching her best friend's hand in her own and staring thoughtfully into space.

Willow raised her head as Angel approached and offered him a wan smile. Her eyes had fallen victim to dark purple bags and her usually brilliant auburn hair now hung in lank tendrils. Hell was taking its toll on them all.

"How is she?" Angel inquired, unthinkingly dropping his voice to a barely audible whisper despite the fact that Buffy's slumber was now almost entirely artificial.

"Better, if you can believe it," Willow replied, matching the vampire's hushed tones. She stifled a yawn with the palm of her hand. "Once the morphine wears off she'll regain consciousness. She'll be weak for a while, and probably feel like she had a house dropped on her… but she'll be ok."

Angel sighed in relief and lowered himself to the ground by Willow's side.

"Get some rest Willow," he insisted, "we still have a long way to go until this is over."

Knowing that it would be both unwise and fruitless to resist, Willow nodded and clambered to her feet. She cast a final glance at her sleeping friend and offered Angel a stoic smile.

"Angel?" she said quietly, her eyes inexplicably drifting to the stone floor beneath her feet. Angel glanced up at Willow, his expression somewhat wary yet his attention obligingly rapt.

"I was thinking," Willow began, shifting her weight from one foot to another as she delayed meeting Angel's gaze.

"Yeah?" Angel pressed as Willow offered nothing further and merely continued to examine the particles of dust that floated in the atmosphere.

Willow swallowed hard and her blue eyes locked upon Angel's for the briefest of moments.

"Buffy deserves to be happy," Willow said with conviction, adding with a softer inflection, "she deserves whatever it takes to make that happen."

"Even if that's me… us?" Angel responded, his expression devoid of all traces of emotion.

Willow narrowed her eyes at the vampire, regarding him without the previously present hostility. Her expression returned to normal as she appeared to have reached her decision.

After a beat she replied, "Even if."

"Sleep well," Angel whispered, watching as Willow disappeared into the sewer passage that would lead her back to the hidden room.

Angel leant closer to Buffy, his eyes monitoring the now steadying rise and fall of her chest. Her lips were beginning to revert to their normal pinkish hue and her body starting to regain some of it's natural warmth. Angel clasped Buffy's hand in his own and massaged her smooth alabaster skin with his thumb. Carefully, he leaned forwards and bestowed a tender kiss on Buffy's forehead. Registering the gesture even in her unconscious state, Buffy released a sigh of deep contentment. Angel hoped beyond anything else that Buffy had witnessed Willow's words and recognised the somewhat reluctant blessing nestled within them. Given the opportunity, he would hold Willow to her promises. Angel only hoped that he still lay within the realms of all that Buffy desired to truly make her happy. So much had occurred throughout the years since Buffy and Angel's lives had first collided, so much lost and very little regained for the two champions. Yet Angel was sure of one thing; even if Buffy had been able to put that part of their past behind her and close the door on it, Angel had not. He had entrusted her with his heart, forever.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Father Figure - XVIII**_

'_He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.' _

_- Clarence Budington Kelland_

_**The Early Bird Motel **_

Dawn was conscious of the four pairs of eyes that had focused upon her from across the breakfast table, yet she refused to raise her head to acknowledge them. The potentials had gathered in a cluster at the opposite end of the large, rectangular bench, talking quickly in hushed tones between mouthfuls of cereal and eggs. Dawn was all too acutely aware of their topic of conversation. She had been surprised to discover that her meeting with Spike had not been quite as clandestine as they had first imagined. Spike himself was presumably still sleeping, or at least was holed up in his motel room until twilight, leaving Dawn to brave the accusatory stares and opposition alone.

Dawn gazed into the depths of her cereal bowl as she glumly stirred a handful raisins into the porridge that had been plonked down before her by the waitress. Her toast and orange juice also remained untouched, a fact which was only partially due to the dire culinary abilities of the motel kitchen.

Giles had yet to make an appearance in the dining room, although Dawn was quietly relieved by the Watcher's absence. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if the potentials were aware of her blossoming relationship with Spike, it would not have escaped Giles' notice.

Brushing her damp hair behind her ears, Dawn nibbled at a piece of toast that had been rendered to a charcoal-like state. From the corner of her eye, she continued to observe as the potentials busily gossiped about the previous night's events. Hayley seemed to be hanging back from the conversation somewhat, perhaps her friendship with Dawn pricking at her conscience if only a little. However, it appeared she had no obvious aversion to shooting Dawn the occasional poisonous glare.

Dawn could somewhat understand the potentials' sudden hostility and disgust towards her actions. In their world, the line between good and evil was a clearly defined one. This kind of thinking was a luxury that over the last five years had begun to evade Dawn and the rest of the Scoobies, as they encountered more and more contradictions to the hard and fast rules. Dawn knew from Buffy's experiences with both Spike and Angel that vampires could love as well as any man, and exhibit compassion even beyond human capacity. The naïve young potentials viewed them only as creatures to be reviled, feared, and ultimately destroyed, blinkered by the training they had thus far received. Dawn gnawed on her bottom lip as she contemplated this, considering the possibility of any danger to Spike's life from the group of girls that sat only metres away from her.

The potentials had enjoyed Spike's presence at first, finding themselves charmed by his unconventional good looks and undeniably quick wit. But they had seen him only as an object to be admired from afar, and Dawn's sudden intimacy with the vampire had both shocked and repulsed them in equal measure. She was walking a fine line with her actions, the consequences of which could prove disastrous for them all.

Dawn brushed off the stares and grimaces flung at her with surprising ease. It was Giles', and later Buffy's, reactions to the situation at hand that were gnawing a gaping hole in the pit of her stomach. Resolutely, Dawn pushed the food away and picked the cloth napkin up from her lap, beginning to fold it with trembling fingers.

"Dawn?" the voice was soft and characteristically gentle, and yet Dawn immediately froze, her napkin dropping to the floor in a heap. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest and Dawn's mouth became so dry she was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to down the glass of too-bitter orange juice in one. She forced her breathing to slow, and with a feigned calmness raised her gaze to Giles.

"Hey, Giles," Dawn chirruped, twisting her lips into a smile that she knew betrayed her. Giles gestured to Dawn's seat and lowered himself into the opposing chair whilst Dawn obediently returned to her previous position. Her cheeks drained of all colour and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep from fidgeting with the edges of the worn lace tablecloth.

"Might we talk?" Giles inquired, smiling in an almost kindly paternal fashion at the girl, who swallowed hard and nodded in response. The four potentials now leaned even closer, their various implements of cutlery abandoned in their dishes as they concentrated on the scene that was unfolding before them. Jenny's lips formed a cruel yet triumphant smile that portrayed her glee, which was reflected equally in Ruthie's expression.

Dawn stared across the table at Giles, resigning herself to the onslaught of abuse that was about to be rained down upon her. Her mouth dropped open in surprise as Giles extended his arm across the table and captured her hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Dawn, I've been speaking with Xander this morning and we think it best that you return to Rome for your own safety," Giles began, suddenly withdrawing his hand and beginning to remove his glasses. He paused and blew gently on the lenses before wiping at the resulting mist that formed with a napkin.

"What?" Dawn demanded, surprising even herself by the level of defiance present in her tone.

"Should we be called upon to enter L.A. and retrieve Buffy and the others, I simply could not allow you to risk your life in such a way," Giles replied, replacing his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. "I know you have a degree of training, and apparently some magical ability that you saw fit to keep from us, but we have no way of knowing…"

"Giles…" Dawn interjected, shaking her head and staring askance at the Watcher, "let's cut the B.S."

"I beg your pardon?" Giles replied, his eyes and voice suddenly parallel in their coldness. Dawn folded her arms across her chest and settled back in her seat, determined more than ever to stand her ground. The potentials were now practically salivating as they unashamedly leaned across the table in order to get a clearer view of the confrontation.

"We both know why you're asking me to leave," Dawn answered, her lips pursed as she awaited a response. She half expected Giles to feign ignorance but he seemed prepared for the girl's hostility and instead met it with impressive composure.

"I'm not asking," was his simple reply. Dawn tossed her hair over her shoulder and arched a fine, dark eyebrow. The curl her lip adopted was irrefutably derisive.

"There's a pre-paid ticket waiting for you at the airport, pack your things, we leave in an hour."

Giles moved as if to rise but Dawn suddenly slammed her fist down on the tabletop, causing several glasses to topple and spill their content. Pools of orange and purple liquid spread across the white fabric, adding to the already present pallet of stains.

Giles wordlessly lowered himself back into his seat, conscious of the dirty looks that the handful of other diners were now bestowing upon them.

"I am not going back to Rome," Dawn said through gritted teeth, ensuring that she placed emphasis on every syllable she uttered. "You and I both know this isn't about L.A. or even Buffy. It's about Spike… and me."

Giles laid both palms flat against the tabletop and leaned so close into Dawn's face that she could see the muscles in his cheeks twitching as he tried in vein to restrain a snarl.

"And do you believe you're helping anyone with your actions, you silly, selfish little girl?" Giles spat, his entire body trembling with the effort of reigning in his fury. Dawn remained unmoving, having witnessed more disturbing sights in her life than Giles' temper.

"We aren't hurting anyone…" Dawn began, pushing her chair back from the table and standing suddenly. Now the potentials visibly shrank back from the argument, embarrassed to be associated with the drama that had succeeded in drawing every pair of eyes in the dining room. The girls lowered their heads to their plates and became instantly engrossed in devouring every last morsel of their meals.

"Really?" Giles snarled, seeming neither to notice nor care that his voice was raised above normal speaking level, "has it not occurred to you how Buffy will feel when she discovers her sister is sneaking around like a love-sick school girl with the man that told her he loved her and then tried to rape her?"

Several startled gasps resounded throughout the dining room, which then grew so deathly silent that the ticking of the wall clock seemed positively deafening.

Before Dawn had really registered her own response, her palm had shot forward and delivered a harsh blow to Giles' left cheekbone. Turning on her heel, Dawn fled from the dining room. Her dark hair whipped behind her as she ran and the soles of her tennis shoes pounded out a desperate rhythm on the concrete. Of course, Dawn already knew this disturbing piece of information regarding Spike's past and his involvement in her sister's life. But for Giles to remind her of it so wickedly was unforgivable in Dawn's eyes. After all, Spike had been a different person at that moment in time; one who lacked a conscience and a soul, whose only powers of self restraint were dependant on a piece of software that had been wedged in his brain against his own will. Since that night, Spike had made a conscious choice to be good and, although sometimes he had fallen down, he had sacrificed his own life to save the world. That in itself cemented his status in Dawn's mind.

Dawn ran to the only place she had left to go. She found herself pounding on the door of the motel room and yelling words that were unintelligible even to her own ears. It was mere seconds before the door was flung open and a pale hand grabbed the collar of her shirt in order to haul her inside. The sudden darkness that she was plunged into served as a comforting release, and Dawn found herself weeping against Spike's cold, hard chest before she even realised that she had reached her destination.

"Hey, hey, love," Spike murmured, tilting Dawn's face upwards and peering in concern into her eyes. The tears poured freely down Dawn's cheeks, and she gasped for breath as she surveyed the vampire before her.

"What's happened?" Spike demanded, his face suddenly falling as he added, "is it L.A.? Buffy, or Nancy boy?"

Dawn simply shook her head, fighting to regain her composure but failing miserably. Her bottom lip trembled uncontrollably and her nostrils flared with each sob she released.

"Giles…" Dawn managed to squeak between a cough and a hiccup, "knows… he… he wants… to send me back… to Rome…"

Spike's gentle expression suddenly hardened and his arms locked instinctively tighter around Dawn's slim body. He drew the girl back into the protection of his chest, and murmured soothingly as he stroked her hair.

"He can't force you to do anything you don't want to love," Spike said finally, resisting the temptation to offer to eviscerate the Watcher and save them both a lot of bother.

"I slapped him," Dawn replied miserably. Spike paused, and then broke into a succession of throaty chuckles.

"It's not funny," Dawn whined, rubbing at her eyes and sighing as Spike perched on the edge of the double bed and wiped the tears of laughter from his cheeks.

"I'm sorry Dawn but it kind of is," Spike said, managing to refrain from further bouts of inappropriate laughter.

"What are we going to do Spike?" Dawn said quietly, her tone inflected with fear, "I don't want this to end yet."

"Neither do I," Spike replied, growing serious in order to match Dawn's mood. "But I guess now we both have to decide how much we don't want this to end… how serious we are."

Dawn hesitated momentarily before moving towards the bed and seating herself on Spike's knee, her arms wrapping around his neck. She lowered her lips to his own and brushed them with a tender kiss. Spike groaned softly as Dawn squirmed a little in his lap, and began to scatter tiny kisses along the length of his cheekbone. Suddenly, he was unbearably aware of his absence of pants.

"This is how serious I am," Dawn breathed, her shaking fingertips finding the buttons of her shirt and systematically beginning to work at them.

Finally, Dawn and Spike sank back against the soft mattress and the tangle of sheets as one, and for just a while nothing else really mattered.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Unintended - XVIIII**_

'_**You could be my unintended, choice to live my life extended,**_

_**You could be the one I'll always love…**_

_**I'll be there as soon as I can,**_

_**But I'm busy mending broken pieces of the life I had before.'**_

_- Unintended by Muse_

The sensation of reawakening was not unlike that of submersing oneself in a pool of murky water. Buffy's hearing was the first of her senses to return, slightly muffled but growing stronger and clearer with each passing second. After several minutes she was able to distinguish the voice that broke through the silence; Angel, softly humming a tune that was familiar to Buffy although the title for the moment evaded her.

The tips of Buffy's fingers began to tingle and she twitched them eagerly, every fibre in her body desperate once more for the thrill of activity. As her eyelids fluttered open, Buffy became increasingly aware of the unpleasant burning that formed a cocoon around her stomach. The throbbing in her ankle seemed almost distant in comparison. Her mouth dropped open and Buffy gasped for air as a sudden jolt of pain stole her breath.

"Buffy?" Angel said, desperation and hope both fighting for control within his voice. "Can you hear me?"

Buffy stared upward and slowly her eyes pulled Angel's beautiful face into focus. He was wearing a concerned frown and his cheeks seemed paler than usual if that were even possible. Buffy found herself hazily wondering if he were thirsty, but pushed the thought immediately to the back of her mind. Her trust in Angel's self control would never waver.

"Angel…" Buffy answered, grimacing as her voice left her lips as a tiny, unpleasant croak.

"You don't have to talk," Angel replied, his features now illuminating with a smile that reflected his pure joy. Angel reached out and brushed a wisp of Buffy's hair away from her forehead so gently that she may have imagined his touch.

"What happened?" Buffy asked, struggling to push herself up on her elbows. The band of pain tightened instantly around her abdomen, halting her progress before Angel could. Buffy lowered herself back onto the cot, realising for the first time that she and Angel were alone in the secret room that he had come to regard as his home.

"We were rescuing a group of soldiers from some demons and we were attacked…"

"By a giant kitty cat," Buffy finished as the memories came flooding back to her on swift wings.

"Willow and my friend May have patched you up as well as they could," Angel continued, gingerly clasping Buffy's hand to his chest, "you've been pretty lucky… a few more minutes and…"

"Don't even think it," Buffy commanded, the usual ring of authority returning to her voice as her strength gathered. "Takes more than a reject from Hell's pet shop to take down _this _Slayer. I'm virtually indestructible…"

Buffy tailed off and gritted her teeth, inhaling sharply as a second wave of pain washed over her.

"You need to rest," Angel commanded, kissing the back of Buffy's hand before laying it down on the cot mattress at her side. Buffy pulled a face, clearly defiant, and shook her head with a little more care than she would have usually applied.

"I think I've done enough resting," she answered tartly, drawing herself up into a sitting position and beginning to lower her feet to the floor. She realised only as the sheet that had been covering her fell away that she was practically naked underneath. Buffy's cheeks and the tips of her ears grew hot as she scrabbled for the blanket and drew it up around herself almost to her chin. Angel had politely turned his back on her, allowing her privacy and himself the chance to recover his composure.

"We er… we need to find the power source…" Buffy stammered, her embarrassment making it difficult for her to meet Angel's gaze as he slowly turned to face her once more.

"That can wait. First we need to concentrate on getting you better," Angel replied firmly, his mouth open as he prepared to continue with his scolding.

"I had it, Angel," Buffy interrupted, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand and wincing at the thought of her own stupidity, "I had it in my hand when that thing attacked. It was a little glowing orb attached to a collar… I guess I dropped it and…"

"We were so busy trying to save you we didn't notice," Angel finished, sighing as he realised that there was no other alternative than to return to the streets as soon as Buffy's injuries would allow. The idea filled him aberrantly with fear. Having come so close to losing Buffy again had taken it's toll on the vampire's valour.

"We have to go back before it's too late," Buffy said furtively, "it's our only shot at getting out of here."

Angel nodded his agreement and heaved a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck with the palm of his hand as he paced the space next to the cot.

"I'll go back, take the soldiers with me if they're willing…" Angel began, drawing to a halt at Buffy's side and crouching down so that their eye lines drew level.

"Not without me," Buffy replied firmly. Angel opened his mouth in preparation to protest, but was soon silenced as Buffy gently laid her index finger across his lips.

"Not without me," she repeated.

Despite the severity of the situation, Angel found his lips curving upwards into a smile that brought new light to his soulful eyes.

"What?" Buffy whispered, suddenly glancing almost self-consciously around the room as though she expected to find an audience lurking in the shadows.

"I was just thinking how incredibly beautiful you are when you're determined," Angel murmured, cupping Buffy's cheek with his right hand and sighing as she nestled closer to his touch with her eyes closed. Buffy's skin was warm and soft, almost flawless in its texture. Angel traced his thumb across the defined line of her cheekbone and allowed it to rest at the corner of her mouth. Her rose pink lips pursed just a little as though excited by the proximity of his fingertips.

"Angel…" Buffy almost pleaded, her eyelids fluttering open and allowing her to gaze weakly into the eyes of her former lover. It was moments such as this one that threatened to bring Buffy's resolve crashing down around her. Her breathing quickened slightly and, despite the voice inside her head that screamed for her to stop, Buffy leaned into Angel and stole a timid kiss. She pulled away, her cheeks a little more pink than usual, and her shame written plainly across her face.

"What is there to stop us Buffy?" Angel demanded in earnest, his face now less than centimetres away from her own. Angel touched the tip of his nose to Buffy's in a romantically playful gesture, and smiled encouragingly.

"Oh I don't know Angel, say maybe, the fate of the world?" Buffy spat archly, her anger ignited by Angel's foolish lack of caution and the resulting butterflies that whirled in her stomach as though caught up in a tornado. "I hear orbs of Thessalah are hard to come by these days."

To Buffy's intense annoyance, Angel laughed. Not the quiet and embarrassed chuckle she would have expected, but a full-blown hearty guffaw that made Buffy bristle with heightened irritation.

"Buffy, do you honestly think I would have my moment of true happiness right here and now?" Angel inquired, his smile and all traces of amusement vanishing from his handsome features as rapidly as they had appeared. "I love you, more than anything I have ever encountered in this world in over two hundred years. How could you think that I would find true happiness… pure joy… when I am responsible for damning you to Hell?"

Buffy froze, her face paling suddenly as the greater meaning behind Angel's words became ever more clear in her mind.

"Hell is the one place we could be together…" Buffy whispered, fresh tears welling in her eyes. Angel was silent and unmoving, patiently awaiting Buffy's decision. If his heart were still beating, he was sure it's rhythm would now be audible to them both.

"If that's what you want… still…" Angel finally replied. His gaze dropped to the floor, allowing Buffy the privacy she should require in order to properly make her choice. For several minutes there was no response, just the loud and steady pounding of the Slayer's magnificent heartbeat echoing in Angel's ears.

Then, Buffy spoke in a voice that shook with a mixture of sheer emotion and overwhelming fatigue at the burdens that she had carried on her shoulders for so long.

"I have never wanted anything else."

The words had barely departed from Buffy's lips before Angel was at her side, his fingers grasping ribbons of her blonde hair as he pulled her face roughly to his own. They kissed, their intermingling passion suffocating them both with their desire for each other.

Angel straddled Buffy, who sank gratefully back onto the mattress of the bed and allowed the sheet to fall from her fingers. Angel breathed in her scent, enjoying it's rawness now that all but the faintest traces of her perfume had evaporated from her skin. To him, she smelled deliciously of lust and power.

Their lips crushed together repeatedly as their hands worked to peal away the layers of Angel's clothing. Buffy smoothed both palms across the surface of Angel's muscular chest and she smirked in delight as he shuddered beneath her touch. For just a moment, Angel hesitated. His eyes swept Buffy's face, which was locked in an expectant expression, and his hands came to rest gently on her waist.

"Are you sure, my love?" Angel pressed, still panting from his previous exertion. Buffy frowned a little, and nodded.

"If we make it out of here, this can't happen again," Angel persisted, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing, "are you sure this one moment is worth the lifetime of heartache that may follow because of it?"

Buffy was silent, stretching her fingertips up in order to stroke Angel's brow in a moment of tender refrain. She knew that she should end this so that her friends would never be hurt by the discovery of such a betrayal, and before her own heart allowed itself to believe that these changes could be permanent. But for once, Buffy longed to be selfish and, in the arms of the man she had loved since her sixteenth year, she found it difficult to deny either of them this moment.

Buffy's only reply was her hungry kiss.


	20. Chapter 20

_**The Nature Of Love - XX**_

'_Doubt is the brother of shame' - Unknown_

_**The Early Bird Motel**_

Sleep had successfully evaded her since the moment she had come to look upon with sickened regret. Spike slumbered at her side, ensnared by a tangle of cotton sheets, and yet such peace had alluded Dawn for many hours now. She stared up at the ceiling and attempted to stem the flow of her thoughts by counting the yellowed tiles above. She found that she became confused often and subsequently gave up after around her fifty-seventh attempt.

Dawn glanced to her side and a smile passed fleetingly across her lips. Her heart thudded a little faster in her chest as her eyes swept Spike's athletic body in appreciation. She knew that she cared deeply for the vampire and did not regret the transcendence of their relationship, but Dawn could not shake the feeling that she had acted wrongly in some way. Giles' words echoed in her mind, his insults and the reason he had attempted to press upon her spiralling somewhat out of control. She shook her head as though this small gesture may help her troubled conscience and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Dawn demanded of herself in a harsh whisper. She pushed herself up on her elbows and sighed, beginning to kick the sheets away from her body in order to rise from the bed. She tiptoed towards the pile of her underwear, wincing as she registered the Snoopy pattern that adorned her bra and pants.

"How mature of me," she muttered, collecting the rest of her clothes from around the room and beginning to dress in the darkness.

She had padded half way to the door on only the balls of her feet when a voice disturbed the quiet. Immediately, Dawn relaxed and turned back to face the bed where Spike languished. She pushed her hands through the tangles in her hair self consciously, wishing furtively that she had at least glanced in a mirror before he had next laid eyes upon her. She was sure that her mascara and lip gloss must be smeared across her cheeks, and her hair felt as though it had risen to a rather alarming volume.

"Where are you off, love?" Spike inquired, stifling a yawn and stretching his arms above his head. Dawn simply shrugged, unsure of her own motives and therefore lacking any real answers.

"I don't know," she admitted when the silence became too much to bear. "For a walk, I guess."

Spike nodded, pursing his lips and running his tongue across the surface of his teeth. Slowly, he reached onto the nightstand and slid a cigarette from the half empty packet. He had barely begun to contemplate retrieving his lighter when Dawn interrupted.

"Those things will kill you, ya know," she blurted in a thoughtless rush. She had begun to blush before her sentence was even complete, realising how ridiculous her claim would be considered. Spike raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe not you," Dawn mumbled, glancing at the carpet, "but me at least."

Spike slid the cigarette back into the packet respectfully and proceeded to fold his arms across his chest as he regarded her.

"So, come on then, let me have it," Spike finally demanded, the angry edge to his voice startling Dawn into meeting his gaze once again.

"Have what?" she murmured, almost stumbling over her words as Spike's eyes narrowed. She wrapped her arms around herself and shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Everything about her stance seemed artificial and forced, something of which she was acutely aware.

"The regrets," Spike answered tartly, "the 'I'm sorry's' and 'I made a mistake's', the 'let's just be mates'… and all that jazz."

He snorted derisively as he reached for the abandoned cigarette once again and this time made a show of lighting it. He took a long drag and blew a furl of smoke rather pointedly in Dawn's direction. After a few seconds of attempting to suppress it, Dawn coughed.

"I'm not sorry," Dawn squeaked after a moment of recovery. She cleared her throat as Spike chuckled and shot her an unconvinced look.

"I'm not," she repeated with new authority resonating in her voice. "I love you Spike. Or at least, right now I think I do. I just can't shake the feeling that this is wrong."

"Because of Buffy or bloody stuffy Giles?" Spike thundered, his voice rising an octave. He stubbed the cigarette out angrily on the wall above the bed and flicked the spent butt towards the garbage can. It missed by a clear metre.

"No," Dawn replied, moving a few paces closer to the bed , her features frozen in earnest. "No, not because I'm afraid of what they may say or even what they may do. I swear it. I don't care what they think."

Spike paused and slowly his face softened as he peered back at Dawn.

"Well good," he sniffed, adjusting the sheets around his body in a bid to avoid looking at Dawn any longer than was quite necessary, "because I don't either."

He had seemed to struggle with the revelation but Dawn smiled still, touched even more by his embarrassment.

"Then… then what is it, Dawnie?" Spike demanded, his eyes suddenly pleading for her honesty. Spike was an ancient creature who had witnessed many stages of life and the world. He had watched with unwavering interest the rise and fall of kings and empires, and had been among the very first to learn of every new invention of man that was dotted along the timeline of his existence. In his life, Spike had been considered a scholar; an educated man whose own potential greatness was inhibited by his reticent character and an overbearing matriarch. More of his human qualities had remained with Spike than he cared to admit and so more than anything he loathed to be denied knowledge.

"I just…" Dawn paused, wringing her hands as she faltered and her gaze desperately swept the room for salvation in any form. Finally realising she would find none, Dawn continued in a small voice. "I just don't think I'm ready."

Spike sat in stunned silence as Dawn mentally berated herself for her explanation, which had sounded lame even to her own ears.

"I don't think I'm ready for… well, sex," Dawn added, rubbing her neck vigorously if only to keep her throat from closing up in fear.

"You seemed pretty… ready three hours ago," Spike tried, his lips curving into an infinitesimally more relaxed smile.

Dawn's cheeks coloured an unbecoming shade of scarlet and Spike laughed as she moved to join him once more on the bed. She swatted playfully at him as she neared, only succeeding in cultivating Spike's amusement further.

"You're not mad?" she inquired, reclining across the mattress and curling her knees into her stomach. She rested her head in Spike's lap and smiled up at him as he began toying with a strand of her hair. He shook his head quickly.

"I'm not going to force anything on you that you aren't ready for, Dawn," Spike said, adding softly and with a note or remorse, "you don't do that to the one you love."

The quiet that descended was comfortable and, for minutes, the lovers continued to enjoy it. Dawn spoke first, realising that the issue may not have been entirely resolved.

"This… this can't happen again, Spike. Not for a while," Dawn stated, her gaze probing his. Spike touched the peak of Dawn's cheekbone with his cold fingers and tenderly traced the pattern of a heart on her skin. She did not miss the gesture, and smiled in a response that creased her eyes at the corners. She had never in her life experienced such a wealth of happiness and fear coexisting within the same moment. This, she presumed, was the nature of love.

"When you're ready," Spike admonished, "I'll be waiting."

"Then we can take things…" Dawn began, sitting up and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Spike pressed his index finger into the indent of Dawn's lips, marvelling at how well it fit there as though the two were created for each other.

"As slowly as you need," he finished, his anger replaced now with a warmth that Dawn had scarcely known Spike capable of.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes inexplicably beginning to tear. She swiped at the salty beads with balled fists, furious with her second display of weakness of the day. Spike allowed her some privacy in order to collect herself whilst he set about locating his clothing. By the time he had pulled his leather pants on and begun fastening his shirt, Dawn sat on the edge of the bed, her face once more a mask of serenity.

"What now then?" Spike said, ruffling his own hair with his fingers. Dawn had given little thought to the many annoying restrictions of vampirism, but she realised now that attempting to perfect one's appearance without a reflection most definitely must be one of them. She briefly entertained the thought of how she would pluck her eyebrows without the use of her trusty compact mirror, but abandoned the issue when it grew too troubling to contemplate any longer.

"I guess we just sit tight and wait for orders," Dawn said with a shrug, clasping Spike's hand as he knelt on the floor before her. His eyes seemed to bore into her own and with the scrutiny Dawn grew uncomfortable.

"Dawn," he murmured huskily, "I don't want there to be any 'we' about it, love."

Dawn blinked in confusion, attempting to wrench her hands from Spike's grip but finding her struggle futile. He held onto her, his icy fingers applying as little pressure to her skin as it took to do so.

"I want you to go to Rome," Spike continued, hanging his head as a wounded expression crossed Dawn's face, "I won't lead you into Hell, love… not knowing whether I have the strength to bring you back out again."

"That's not your choice to make," Dawn insisted, "I won't let you go alone. I can't lose you now when I've only just really found you. I won't…"

Spike silenced her tirade with a kiss, pressing his lips against her own and moving his palm to caress the nape of her neck. Dawn returned his passion, her eyes closed and her protests catching in her throat. They broke apart gasping somewhat after a minute, and Dawn regarded Spike with her chin raised defiantly.

"No," she said simply, as if believing the lone syllable held the power to end their argument. Spike could not allow such ambitious thinking.

"Please, Dawn," he breathed, his voice trembling uncontrollable and his face paused mere inches from her own. Spike's eyes shone, iridescent with unshed tears and the presence of a soul that had finally discovered it's home. Dawn swallowed hard and tasted bitter defeat with a scowl.

"Ok."

Spike kissed her once more, hungry but restrained enough to respect her wishes. Dawn faded into his embrace, resting her ear against Spike's chest and wondering momentarily what it would mean to hear a heartbeat echoing within the hollow cavity.

"I'll go to Rome," Dawn said, raising her head and glaring at Spike with blazing eyes, "but I'll be waiting."

"I'll be counting on it," Spike replied, grinning.

Dawn climbed to her feet and, with a departing smile that was still not entirely devoid of anger, pushed open the door of the motel room. Spike watched her leave with a sinking heart, knowing that the moment they had just experienced together held the potential to be their last. Still, he found himself unable and unwilling to indulge in selfishness and call Dawn to return. He smiled wryly. He could not risk something so precious to the finality of Hell. That was the nature of love.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Fear Of Dark - XXI**_

'_Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark' - Francis Bacon_

Angel's fear was almost palpable as the band of warriors picked their way through the same back alleys they had walked little over twenty-four hours ago. Angel led the party with Buffy close at his heels whilst Willow followed several metres behind. The sense of deja-vu was overwhelming. This time, however, Willow's attentions were focused upon weaving protective charms around the soldiers, who were undoubtedly the more vulnerable of the group. It bothered Willow to consider the potential loss of more human life and so she had resolved to personally ensure the safety of them all as best she could.

Once the nature of the situation had been explained, the three remaining marines had taken little time to consider Buffy's plea for assistance in relocating the power source. Despite their lack of a leader or mission statement, they had almost fallen over themselves in a bid to be of some help to the Slayer. Angel could well understand their affiliation with Buffy, who was the most unlikely of heroes based on appearance alone. Her petite frame and deceptively sweet visage seemed to naturally evoke a desire to protect despite the fact that this was something Buffy rarely required. Angel could not help but wonder if in this particular instance Buffy was using this to her advantage. Since the scales of fate seemed to be tipped against them he felt he could not blame her in the slightest if she were.

The plan was for the gang to spread out into two groups and search the area for the power source in as little time as humanly possible. Once Buffy had been provided with a fresh set of clothing that Angel had 'borrowed' from a nearby store, she had set about with renewed vigour voicing her intention to be part of the operation. Angel had protested equally against Buffy's insistence but, true to form, the Slayer had remained stubborn. Buffy had promised that she would not undertake unnecessary risk to ensure the safety of the others if nothing else, and so Angel had been left with no other choice than to make peace with her decision. Furious, Buffy had reminded him of the numerous occasions she had been forced to battle with less than favourable odds on her side and some form of gaping flesh wound to boot. With a faintly amused smile, Angel had conceded and armed Buffy with a sword that should have been impossible for a woman of her stature to even lift. Buffy had hefted the weapon with the precision of an assassin and as little effort as though she were wielding a toothpick.

Angel stole a glance over his shoulder every now and again in order to observe how Buffy appeared to be faring. May had examined her wounds an hour before and discovered that the lacerations to Buffy's torso had almost completely healed over, leaving in their place thin white scar lines. The Slayer still limped a little since the damage to her ankle had been more extensive but even those visible wounds had faded. May had regarded Buffy with equal measures of curiosity and fear, but the Slayer had been given little opportunity to assuage either. As soon as the exam was done May had retreated deeper into the sewer tunnels without pausing to say goodbye to even Angel.

It was evident to Angel that Buffy was still in a degree of discomfort but her mouth was set in a determined line that the vampire knew better than to argue against. With her sword raised despite the lack of any impending threat, Buffy followed in Angel's footsteps. He found himself thankful for her presence and yet near incapacitated by his fear that this fight would prove her last. He swallowed hard to dislodge the lump that had risen in his throat as images of Buffy's blood soaked body lying on the tarmac flashed through his mind. Those were the images that had tormented him once their lovemaking was done, preventing him from slipping into the same comfortable sleep that had soon after claimed Buffy.

"We're almost there," Buffy whispered, more to break the silence rather than inform. Willow nodded and behind her she heard the simultaneous clicks as the soldiers cocked their rifles in readiness. Fear radiated off them in staggering waves but their eyes remained cold and focused. The words that sprung to Willow's mind were battle-hardened.

She shuddered as she recalled the various preparations the men had made before stepping out of the sewers to join the Slayer's quest. Brent, the older of the men at around twenty-eight, had murmured a foreign prayer into the crucifix that dangled from his neck before taking up arms; Grey, a hulking mountain of a man who radiated an aura of pride, had insisted on bulling his boots for around half an hour before they left, much to the annoyance of the others; and Jameson, the younger and less experienced, had slipped a small colour print from his pocket and raised it to his lips before concealing it again. Willow refused to pry into the subject of the photograph but the small tear the man wiped hurriedly away from his eye in the next moment left Willow in little doubt that it was an image of those he most feared abandoning. Mortality became a more terrifying prospect when there was the threat of loved ones left behind.

The small group filed out of the cover of the alleyway and drew to a standstill on the outer edge of the square that housed the cinema complex. The illuminated sign that hung above the building flickered erratically and occasionally rained down a shower of sparks onto the street below. Nothing else stirred within the shadows. Willow heard Jameson swallow hard over her shoulder as his gaze fell to the body of their fallen commander, whom they had been forced to abandon during the previous fight.

"It's not right," Jameson whispered, shaking his head and lowering his weapon, "he should get a shot at a proper burial… he was a good man."

"I don't doubt that," Buffy replied, her tone low and wary, "but right now we have to pay more care to the living. There are people trapped in the sewers and our first priority has to be to get them out of here. Just stick to the plan. We'll recover bodies if we get the chance."

Willow shuddered at her friend's use of the plural term, realising that Buffy expected further loss among their party. Narrowing her eyes Willow concentrated even harder at pouring her energy into the spells of protection.

"Willow, go with Jameson and Grey, stick close to each other and don't stray too far from the mouth of the alley," Angel commanded, "Buffy, Brent and me will take the opposite side of the street. If we don't turn anything up after ten minutes, we head back and try again another time. I don't want to spend any longer in exposure than we have to."

The group exchanged glances, their expressions varying from terror to ambitious determination. Buffy wordlessly handed Willow a dagger that she slipped from the band of her jeans and offered her friend a smile. Willow attempted to return the gesture but discovered quickly that even trying only caused her lips to tremble uncontrollably. Buffy reached out and squeezed the witch's elbow in reassurance.

"We'll make it out, Will," she promised, leaning in and wrapping Willow in a brief embrace. As the women drew apart, Willow sucked in a breath and then turned to begin leading the soldiers into the centre of the street. She was careful to step over the various debris underfoot that threatened to trip her but this time she made a conscious effort to refrain from identifying any. Her eyes scanned the ground, searching only for the small glowing orb that Buffy had described, and failed to register little else. The damned had now fallen quiet in her ears and, much to her own disgust, Willow had actually found some relief at this fact. She sensed her two companions close behind her and continued to move forward, eyes downcast.

"Let's go," Angel said grimly, taking the hand that Buffy extended to him and moving towards their target area. Brent followed, his gaze scouring the hidden crevices beside buildings and all other possible hiding places for any signs of movement. He had promised to provide cover for the Slayer and vampire whilst they searched, and was undertaking his role with dedication.

"That's where I was attacked," Buffy whispered, pointing to a dark stained spot on the sidewalk that appeared fresher than the others. Angel paused for a moment in recollection and then nodded. They both dropped to their knees and began crawling across the tarmac with their palms outstretched, hoping that if their vision failed them their fingers would not. Buffy worked tirelessly, covering the ground before her at a snail's pace. Once, her fingers grasped something hard and round that glinted a little in the darkness but when she had raised the object triumphantly to her face she had been disappointed to discover only a lost marble in her grasp. Frustrated, Buffy flung the object away from her and sat back on her heels. It was then she heard Angel's startled cry just several feet outside her peripheral vision.

Angel had risen to a standing position and was holding aloft a nugget of iridescent amber that hung from a tattered length of rope. The tiny object had drawn the gazes and relieved smiles of all the others aside from Brent, who suddenly let out a roar that reverberated off the brick of the surrounding buildings. Buffy sprang into action as Brent's rifle spewed a hale of bullets in Angel's direction, and the vampire was lifted clear off the ground by an unseen hand. She leaped to her feet and raised her sword to striking height in preparation to launch an attack. Buffy squinted, and it was then that the jackal came into view.

The monster dangled Angel from it's talons like a maggot on a hook and threw back it's head. A rasping laugh spilled from it's lips as it carefully moved to pluck the power source from Angel's hand. The vampire swung helplessly in Cerberus' grip, writhing in the air in a vein attempt to protect his discovered treasure. Before Buffy could react, Willow raised one hand to barely above shoulder height and the power source was suddenly snatched from Angel's fingers. The stone whistled through the air at alarming speed before coming to rest snugly in the palm of Willow's waiting hand. The witch smirked in satisfaction before breaking into a sprint that would lead her back towards the safety of the alley mouth.

Jameson was the first to react and began emptying the rounds in his rifle into the jackal's torso. After barely a second's pause, Brent and Grey recovered themselves and added to the fire. The sound was deafening but Cerberus seemed to show little reaction even as the bullets ripped into his flesh and exploded. His round crimson eyes only narrowed to the slightest degree as he appeared to realise that he had been momentarily bested.

Jameson and Grey took off towards the alley after Willow, upholding their vow to Angel to remain at her side at all times. The two men disappeared into the alleyway and the sounds of their weapon fire ceased. Buffy had little time to contemplate their fates; she could only trust in Willow's magical ability to see them all through.

"Angel!" Buffy called frantically. As his head whipped round to the direction of her voice, Angel's features contorted and melted away into the countenance of the demon. Buffy signalled to him with one smooth motion and then tossed her sword into the air toward his outstretched arm. Angel caught the weapon by the hilt and with a guttural snarl sliced through the atmosphere with the blade. Buffy's eyes were drawn to the flash of the metal and so she barely registered the sight of the demon's head tumbling from it's enormous body.

Angel was released and dropped to the ground landing deftly on the balls of his feet with the sword still in one hand. Cerberus' body collapsed into a heap, twitched for several seconds, and then was prone.

Brent visibly relaxed and lowered the muzzle of his gun, a hesitant smile playing across his lips. He was unsure of the extent of their victory and thus unwilling to commit to any real act of celebration. Angel sighed and moved to reunite himself with his lover, his arms outstretched in a demonstration of his eagerness to pull her into an embrace. Buffy stepped forward to shorten the distance between them but suddenly drew short as terror anaesthetised her reflexes.

Over an unsuspecting Angel's shoulder, the jackal demon loomed once more. The decapitated corpse of the creature clambered unsteadily onto it's hind legs and swayed briefly from side to side. From the stump of it's neck, a shapeless lump protruded and continued to swell until within seconds a head identical to the first had been born between the creature's shoulders.

Buffy's eyes widened in shock as she surveyed the monster. She could only watch in muted horror as Cerberus suddenly lunged towards Angel's head, his jaws hanging wide open and his fangs exposed. Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and listened to the sickening sound of barbaric teeth tearing through flesh that this time was not her own.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Faith - XXII**_

'_**Steal me, deal me, anyway you heal me,**_

_**Maim me, tame me, you can never change me,**_

_**Love me, like me, come ahead and fight me,**_

_**Please me, tease me, go ahead and leave me.'**_

_- I Think I'm Paranoid by Garbage_

Giles sank into the cushions of the rather tattered reclining chair and raised a glass of Scotch to his lips. He drank deeply from the tumbler until the nectar was no more, and was refilling it once again from a half empty bottle before he had even finished swallowing. The Scotch burned the back of his throat with a warmth that Giles welcomed. His vision was beginning to blur a little around the edges and the Watcher knew that he was already well on his way to blissful inebriation. He chuckled aloud to himself at nothing in particular and then quickly drained the second glass. Setting it down on the table beside him, he wasted no time in reaching once again for the bottle.

Dawn had departed for Italy a little over an hour ago having been forced to transfer to a later flight. Giles had found himself relieved by the girl's sudden change of heart but simply could not shake the feeling that something was still very much awry with the situation. He had done his best to make his peace with Dawn at the airport but the girl had remained stiff and unyielding all throughout their goodbye. Sometimes she was too much like Buffy for her own good, but there were not many who were brave enough to point this out to either of the Summers women.

As a quiet knock resounded on the door of his motel room, Giles stiffened and then grimaced. He endeavoured to pour himself another round before responding but his trembling hand resulted in a great deal of Scotch slopping over the lip of his glass and onto the carpet. Giles' irritation doubled.

"Bugger off…" Giles called, giggling to himself as he realised the wealth of uncharacteristic rudeness behind his words. There was a pause and Giles hoped that the unwelcome visitor was beginning retreat. He was currently not in the mood for coddling a bunch of half-hearted vampire slaying wannabes whose best aspiration could be to pale in comparison to his Buffy.

Giles' hope was quickly dispelled as suddenly the door was flung open, revealing a very bemused and irate vampire on the threshold. Spike took in the Watcher's condition within seconds and his lip curled upwards forming a disgusted sneer that only appeared to evoke further amusement from Giles.

"William!" Giles said jovially, thrusting his glass in Spike's direction as the vampire stepped into the room. Since it was only a temporary residence, the fact that he had yet to receive an invitation was inconsequential.

"Come in, sit, let me fetch you a drink… maybe another underage school girl to violate."

Giles chuckled at his jibe and reached out to set his glass on the coaster he had placed on the table. His first three attempts failed, but the fourth saw the tumbler resting rather precariously on it's intended spot.

Spike released a warning growl that resounded low in his throat and his pale fingers curled immediately into fists at his side. He appeared to be harnessing every last ounce of self control to prevent from launching himself forwards in attack. Spike did not bother to attempt to mask his fury as he continued to glare at Giles, who stared back with all the dignity he could currently muster.

"What the bloody hell are you playing at, Giles?" Spike demanded, his tone clearly less than amused.

"I might ask you the same," Giles replied, staggering to his feet and clutching the side of the table for much needed support. He narrowed his eyes at the vampire before him as he continued, "Don't think I don't know what happened between you and Dawn. You will be truly sorry you ever laid an unworthy finger on that girl once Buffy is back…"

"Buffy will never be bloody well back," Spike thundered, taking a step towards Giles, who stood his ground, "not if all we do is sit around here on our fannies twiddling our soddin' thumbs whilst we wait for one of us to have an epiphany. We need a plan, Giles, and those girls out there need direction."

Spike picked up the bottle of Scotch from the table and, without a final word, flung it against the wall. The bottle exploded on impact and shards of glass rained down onto the unmade bed. The liquid contained within coursed a river down the paintwork, leaving noticeable track marks in its wake.

"We've been waiting long enough," Spike snarled, his eyes narrowing as Giles collapsed once more into the recliner with no apparent intentions of immediate action.

"And what is it you propose we do then, Spike?" Giles sneered, removing his glasses and tossing them across the surface of the table. He rubbed at his red-rimmed eyes and shot the vampire a furious glare.

"I don't bloody know, do I?" Spike retorted, "you're the Watcher, work around that concept. Figure something out."

Giles gazed soberly across at Spike before suddenly doubling over in a fit of laughter. Spike growled in answer. He had crossed the remaining distance between them in a matter of seconds. Gathering Giles' collar in one hand, Spike lifted the man clear off the seat and held him aloft towards the ceiling. Giles appeared surprisingly nonplussed. However, he clearly battled to keep his eyes focused on the vampire's face. Spike recognised that Giles was beginning to slip into the heavy unconsciousness that followed immediately after a drinking binge. With a disgusted sigh, Spike lowered Giles almost gently back into the chair and moved at least several feet away from the Watcher, should he again be tempted to rebel against his conscience.

"If we don't do something now then Buffy, Red, and everyone else left alive in L.A. will die," Spike hissed, struggling to restrain the demon within who was rattling against the bars of its cage.

"I don't know what to do…" Giles confessed in a broken whisper. He dropped his head into his hands and his shoulders suddenly began to tremble with the very effort of breathing. Spike faltered, unsure of how to proceed given Giles' rather precarious mental state. Before Spike could speak, a second familiar voice cut cleanly through the silence.

"That's where I come in."

Both Giles and Spike turned simultaneously to the open door. Faith stood on the stoop, her arms folded across her chest and her head cocked to one side as her keen eyes drank in the scene before her. Her auburn hair was pulled into a French braid that hung down her back yet this seemed to be the only elegant aspect of her appearance. She wore low slung black jeans, hiking boots, and a red flannel shirt that succeeded in teasing the faintest traces of a pink glow from her ivory complexion. Faith sucked in a breath and grimaced as though she tasted animosity. The atmosphere was rife with conflict, something that Faith could never fail to detect since she had been the instigator of much in her lifetime.

"Faith," Giles murmured, sounding almost grateful for this sudden and unexpected turn in events. He even managed to raise a smile which Faith responded to with a playful wink.

"Ripper," she admonished, her smirk growing as she crossed into the bedroom and motioned to the empty glass at Giles' side. "You know, that stuff won't do much else aside from give ya a killer headache in the morning."

"You have a plan then?" Spike demanded, seizing Faith's upper arm and spinning her to face him. Faith coolly eyed the fingers that had encircled around her bicep before her eyes flicked to Spike's face.

Her expression unreadable and tone even, she said, "Don't. Ever. Touch. Me."

Slowly, Spike released the Slayer from his grasp but kept his eager gaze trained upon her.

"Yes, I gotta plan," Faith replied, a little of her arrogance beginning to radiate from her person as she realised that she had yet again become their saving grace. Despite her recent reformation, more than anything Faith still relished having the upper hand.

"So?" Spike probed, his fingers twitching impatiently as he awaited further explanation. The separation from Dawn bothered him more than he had liked and, following their earlier goodbye, Spike had found himself wandering round under a permanent thundercloud. He currently had little patience for Faith's procrastination.

"We go to L.A." Faith answered, her gaze drifting momentarily to Giles who had finally succumbed to sleep and was now snoring loudly, his mouth hanging wide open.

"Oh yes, wonderful, bloody marvellous," Spike said laughing incredulously, "don't know why none of us thought of that. Just one small problem there, love… there's a bloody force field that's as impenetrable as a nun's knickers around the place."

Faith arched an eyebrow and shook her head.

"We arm ourselves to the eyeballs, pitch tents out of view, and we wait," she said, unperturbed by Spike's agitation. "We work in two teams, rotate in shifts so that you can cover the graveyard stretch. Whoever isn't working can catch a few zeds in the van. If anyone sees us, we're just a bunch of crazy kids out for camping high-jinx. When the force field drops again, we'll know."

"That could take months… years even…" Spike barked, running his hands through his hair and beginning to pace the expanse of the room like a caged animal. "It may never happen."

"Would you know if it _had _holed up here in your comfy motel?" Faith challenged archly, planting both hands on her hips and glaring at Spike. He paused, weighing the truth behind her words, and then finally shook his head.

"I suppose not."

Faith preened a little. Spike had admitted defeat and, given Giles' current state, she was now in charge of proceedings. She rubbed her hands together before plopping lightly down onto the arm of Giles' recliner. She hooked her thumb in Giles' direction and raised a questioning eyebrow at Spike.

"What the hell happened to get Giles' panties in such a bunch?"

Spike snorted before replying, "Don't even ask. You'll find out whilst Buffy is shoving a stake through my heart and cloves of garlic up my arse."

Faith nodded, willing to let the matter go for the time being, and Spike was thankful for that at least.

"Well, I guess I'd better turn in, busy day tomorrow and all," Spike said, moving towards the doorway in evident relief for the opportunity of escape. "Well, goodnight then."

Already beginning to rummage in her pockets for a replacement stick of gum, Faith merely nodded and did not bother to so much as glance at Spike as he exited the motel room. He closed the door behind him to the sound of Giles' uninterrupted snoring and nothing more. Spike found himself increasingly thankful that with this particular Slayer, there were no pretences.


	23. Chapter 23

_**The Gates Of Hell - XXIII**_

'_Abandon all hope, ye who enter here' - Dante Alighieri_

Buffy opened her eyes with a snap as she felt a heavy object barrel into her, knocking her to the tarmac and expelling the air from her lungs in the process. Realising that the object in question was actually a body, the Slayer recovered quickly and urged her bleary vision into focus. Angel lay sprawled across her lap, apparently unharmed save for a thin scratch decorating his temple on the left side. A line of blood oozed from the wound, which Buffy could tell from a mere glance was superficial. She could feel Angel's body trembling above hers, a testament to the fact that he had expected nothing less than his own end.

The Slayer blinked in shock, contemplating the hows and whys of suddenly finding her lover in her arms when only moments before he had faced death at the jaws of a demon. Angel and Buffy stared at each other silently for a beat before each scrambling to their feet and turning in perfect unison to see what miracle had halted Cerberus' attack.

Buffy felt the bile rising in her throat as she took in the sight of Angel's saving grace; Brent slumped over in the jackal's arms, his once gleaming eyes now unstaring and hopelessly glassy. His rifle lay several feet away still in the spot he had abandoned it before he had thrown himself in front of Angel's body, thus securing his own fate.

Cerberus lowered his muzzle to Brent's meaty neck and tore great chunks of flesh from the bone with his teeth. Hungrily, the demon devoured the soldier, picking at his carcass like a vulture. Buffy knew beyond all doubt that there was nothing more they could do for Brent. Although with this mission she had expected the further loss of life, the sight of the soldier who had sacrificed himself so willingly for the greater good only ignited her anger.

Buffy prepared to fling herself forwards and interrupt the beast's meal with flying fists, but Angel seized her arm and hauled her back to his side. Pain jarred in her ankle and Buffy almost growled as she rounded on the vampire.

"Let me go…" Buffy snarled, her desperation only growing as Cerberus continued to gorge himself on the body of the man she owed her lover's life to. The demon smacked it's lips together before lowering it's mouth once again to Brent's shoulder.

"We can't help him now…" Angel hissed in reply, dragging Buffy towards the relative safety of the nearest car. They hunkered down behind the ruined vehicle, Buffy panting out her fury and Angel sneaking glances at the feasting demon.

"He's involved in his… meal… for now," Angel murmured, visibly disturbed by his own choice of phrasing. "We have to go now, Buffy. This is far worse than I ever thought…"

"What is that thing?" Buffy demanded. Her eyes blazed with fury as she shot another glance at the demon. All the muscles in her body tensed at once and Angel gripped her wrist tightly in fear that she would suddenly spring forth.

"I believe it's Cerberus," Angel replied in a whisper as he used the sleeve of his coat to wipe the blood that trickled from his temple and threatened to obscure his vision. "The guardian of the gates of Hell."

Buffy's mouth fell open as she turned once more to regard the demon, this time a tinge of alarm present in her eyes.

"But… I thought that was just a myth," Buffy faltered, gripping Angel's hand in her own.

Angel grimly shook his head, "Apparently you thought wrong."

"Isn't he supposed to have like three heads?" Buffy challenged, unable to admit her mistake despite the gravity of the situation they found themselves in. Angel rolled his eyes, amused by Buffy's relentlessness.

"He does, you just don't see them all at once I guess…" Angel replied in a distracted tone as he combed the area with his gaze in an attempt to locate a route to safety. Angel knew beyond all doubt that the demon would catch up with them before they made it back to the alley, and that left them with little other option than to stand and face this new foe.

Angel swallowed hard and adjusted his hold on the hilt of the sword.

"Legend says that Hercules decapitated Cerberus and killed him," Angel began, glancing briefly at Buffy who was listening with the rapt attention of a child hearing a bedtime story, "but the truth is Hercules made the same mistake I just did. Except there was no one there to save him. His body and soul were devoured."

Buffy shuddered as she realised that for Brent, the pain would not end with his death. Wrapping her arms around herself, Buffy returned her attention to Angel.

"So wait, if Hercules decapitated him once and you just did again then maybe that means he's only got one more head left?" Buffy said hopefully. A quick glance over her shoulder alerted her to the fact that the demon had almost picked Brent's body clean. She looked away rapidly as she caught site of bone protruding from beneath mounds of the soldier's flesh. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach but she fought against the nausea for the time being. Buffy knew that should she escape this place with her life, these images would be ones that haunted her for a long time to come. Now, however, was neither the time nor place to indulge in a complete mental breakdown.

"It's worth a shot," Angel answered, frowning as suddenly Cerberus released a howl that caused the very ground underfoot to tremble. Several car windows, which had up until that point still been intact, cracked and exploded as a result.

"I guess he's done," Buffy whispered, her heartbeat quickening as her body released the extra adrenaline she would require to see her through the impending fight. "We're up."

Before Angel could so much as flinch, Buffy had sprung to her feet and vaulted over the car. By the time Angel had recovered himself and leapt over the vehicle, Buffy was already running full pelt at the demon, her eyes narrowed purposefully. Cerberus roared in response and then, to the intense surprise of both Slayer and vampire, began to pound his paws together as though providing them with a round of applause for his amusement. He tossed back his head and chuckled. Buffy's pace slowed until she eventually drew to a complete standstill, her eyes wide as she stared at this apparently intelligent monster.

"Slayer," Cerberus hissed in a raspy bass tone, "welcome."

"Did it just talk?" Buffy demanded, turning to glance at Angel who was approaching with his sword drawn defensively. He nodded once, not daring to take his eyes off the demon.

"We were so glad you could join us," Cerberus continued, his tongue sliding over his fangs and wiping away the remaining traces of blood and flesh. "My master has many plans for you both. Surrender to me now and you may live to see another day."

"Sorry, Fido," Buffy sneered, her nose wrinkling as she spoke, "surrender has never been a word in my vocabulary. Just ask Angel."

Angel nodded in confirmation, "She's really quite irritatingly persistent."

The demon snarled, his lips curling back from his teeth, and then snapped his jaws in Buffy's direction. The Slayer stood her ground, only moving infinitesimally in order to adjust the height of her sword. Cerberus inclined his head slightly as though hearing some sound that was clearly not meant for either Buffy or Angel's ears. One quick glance at Angel alerted Buffy that he also heard nothing other than the rattling breath of the jackal.

"No matter girl," Cerberus stated with an air of pomposity. He turned to gaze at Buffy with evident glee present in his beady blood-red eyes, "I will feast upon your soul when the time comes."

The words had barely spilled from the demon's mouth when the sky above began to shift and change. The rolling clouds darkened to a disturbing shade of black and the atmosphere itself seemed to be splitting apart. A fork of lightning cut through the sky and Buffy leapt back as it struck the ground at her feet, cutting a deep trench in the tarmac. Buffy whipped the sword around her head, almost inviting the demon to try it's luck with her blade.

"Buffy!" Angel yelled as Cerberus moved into a deadly crouch. But the Slayer's attention was diverted to the sky from which an impossibly loud grinding noise seemed to be emanating. Drawn by the alien sound, Angel glanced upward in time to see a gateway materialise above their heads. The shining grey bars had an almost metallic appearance although Angel discerned quickly that they were formed from pure energy rather than any solid matter. With a grinding creak that set her teeth on edge, the gate swung open and a second bolt of lightning streaked towards Buffy. She rolled out of the way with a startled cry, and that was when the demon chose to spring.

Yet, instead of leaping atop the fallen Slayer as Angel had expected, Cerberus sailed toward him. Angel barely had time to raise his arms to shield himself from the attack he anticipated before the demon's body connected with his own, knocking him to the ground. After a few painless seconds had elapsed, Angel realised that in this instance defending himself would be unnecessary. Cerberus seized the collar of Angel's jacket in his teeth and hauled the vampire to his feet. Buffy appeared routed to the spot, despite her senses screaming at her to come to Angel's aid. Some invisible force held her fast and Buffy was powerless to resist it.

Then, using his powerful hind legs to launch himself from the ground, Cerberus leapt almost elegantly into the air and disappeared through the shimmering gateway. The collar of Angel's coat was still held firmly between his teeth. Buffy screamed as her lover was swallowed by the gates of Hell.


	24. Chapter 24

_**The Many Faces Of Evil - XXIV**_

'_If the devil does not exist, and man has therefore created him, he has_

_created him in his own image and likeness' - Fyodor Dostoyevsky_

The gem grew unbearably hot in Willow's hand and it was with a startled yelp that she allowed it to fall from her fingers. It rolled less than a metre away from the toe of her boot but Willow did not dare to retrieve it for fear her skin would be blistered by the intensity of the heat it exuded. Furrowing her brow, Willow attempted to recall from memory another power draining spell. The last twelve she had employed seemed to do little to effect the stone for the better and Willow was beginning to doubt her own expertise in this particular field. Had the fate of Los Angeles and even the world not relied upon the destruction of this article, Willow would more than likely have given up already.

Jameson and Grey kept their eyes and weapons trained upon the exit of the alley, their backs to Willow as she worked at disabling the force field. At her cry, Jameson glanced briefly over his shoulder to ensure her wellbeing and, once satisfied, returned his attention to their most vulnerable point.

"What the hell is taking so long?" Grey demanded, frustration creeping into his tone as panic threatened to overwhelm him. Willow exhaled slowly before chanting a Latin incantation under her breath that ordinarily would have obliterated its chosen target after sapping it of all power. As the final words left her lips, the stone on the ground twitched a little and then was still. Willow held her breath, daring to hope for success. She groaned inwardly as the gemstone began throbbing once again as though taunting her with its apparently indestructible shell.

"Damn it!" Willow cursed, raking her hands through her hair in desperation. Jameson turned once again to observe the witch, his gaze coming to rest on the tiny nugget that was proving the source of so much trouble. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"There's one thing you haven't tried yet," he offered, lowering his rifle and crossing the short distance between them in several strides.

"What…" Willow began in confusion, suddenly trailing off as she realised the soldier's intent. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide as she shrieked a warning to the naïve young man, "No! No… you can't…"

Jameson had raised his right foot and brought the heel of his boot down upon the stone before Willow could move to stop him. There was an audible crunch that was almost instantly proceeded by a flash of brilliant green light that rippled outwards and knocked both Willow and Grey off their feet.

Allowing her eyes a few seconds to recover, Willow eventually raised her head from the ground and gasped as she took in the sight of Jameson's body. The young soldier had fallen where he stood, his body having been incinerated to an unrecognisable black husk. He had not even had the chance to scream. A few inches away from his corpse, lay a pile of amber dust that now seemed dull and not at all luminous.

Willow's thoughts drifted to the photograph of the smiling woman and infant that she had watched Jameson place in his breast pocket only hours ago. She had never even found the courage to ask their names. Swallowing her misery, Willow glanced to the heavens and noted how the rolling clouds had suddenly calmed and stilled. The city was in darkness but the presence of a beautiful crescent moon high in the sky alerted Willow that the natural order of things had been restored. The force-field was down.

**x-x-x**

Faith grunted as the wave of green light connected with the centre of her chest and flung her body to the ground. She skidded several feet backwards, grazing her forearms painfully against the dusty floor. Squinting, Faith glanced to her left side where two of the potentials now lay, stunned and struggling to recover their breath. Faith pushed herself up on her elbows and wasted little time in jumping to her feet in order to peer into the distance. The soldiers that had only moments before moved with purpose about the perimeter of the city now lay in haphazard formations on the ground, their eyes closed and limbs still. Faith relaxed a little as she noted the steady rise and fall of their chests, signifying that they had been nothing more than temporarily stunned by the anomaly that had radiated from the city.

Faith's lips curved upward into a smile and she nodded her head once in silent homage to the powerful witch she knew had brought about this sudden development.

Reaching down with both hands, Faith hauled the potentials to their feet and pushed them roughly in the direction of the minivan. The two girls stared in confusion back at their mentor who grunted her frustration at them.

"Gather the others," Faith commanded, little civility present in her tone, "the force-field's down… it's time to party, girls."

With eyes wide Ruthie and Jenny took off in the direction of the minivan, their hands interlocked and hair flying in the wind behind them.

Faith narrowed her eyes at the horizon, raised her battleaxe, and ran as she had never run before towards the barely beating heart of the city.

**x-x-x**

Buffy lay in stunned silence for less than a second after Cerberus and Angel had vanished. The gateway seemed to be almost flickering now and Buffy soon realised that time was of the essence should she plan to follow. With a snarl Buffy leapt to her feet and used all her strength to launch her body atop the bonnet of the nearest vehicle. The delivery van groaned and screeched in protest under the sudden shock of Buffy's weight after having lain unused for so many months. Gritting her teeth and balancing precariously on the edge of the hood, Buffy swung her arms behind her like an athlete preparing to undertake the long-jump. Whipping her arms forward, Buffy threw herself towards the open mouth of Hell with every last ounce of power she had left.

As soon as her body passed through the crackling sheath of energy, Buffy felt the burn of a thousand blades plunging relentlessly into her flesh. Shock left her unable to scream and so Buffy endured the pain for several moments in forced silence before it abruptly ended as her body connected with a stone floor. Buffy gasped, her head whipping from side to side as she searched for Angel and the monster that had claimed him. She withdrew the stake she always carried concealed in her waistband and tried to bury the realisation that it served as a pitiful weapon at best.

Buffy blinked in surprise as she peered at her surroundings. She wondered momentarily if she had hit her head during the fall and slipped unknowingly into unconsciousness, but her vision seemed a little too sharp around the edges for this to be true.

Buffy stood in the centre of the yard and spun in a full circle, mystified by her presence in such a seemingly innocent place. She had braced herself for instant attack upon her arrival, having expected demonic hordes to be lying in wait. Her grip tightened suspiciously on the stake that was now her only lifeline.

An enormous winding slide dominated the far left of the playground, flanked on either side by a teeter-totter and a rusted set of swings. The roundabout positioned to Buffy's right creaked noisily as it rotated, the only sound to pierce the stillness. Buffy glanced around the skeletal trees, noting the absence of birdsong and laughter of children that formed the natural soundtrack to most playgrounds. The sky above was overcast and there was a definite chill in the air as though a winter wind where somehow present, yet the bare tree branches remained frozen in place. The grass at the edge of the concrete was withered and brown as if it had never been allowed to experience the invigorating kiss of sunlight. Buffy glanced in every direction, scouring the vicinity for any sign of excitable children towing parents in their wake. She found none. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

Buffy sighed and moved towards the sole bench in the immediate area. She sank onto the wooden planks, groaning as her back screamed in pain, and prepared to wait.

The first recollection Buffy had of closing her eyes was when they once again flickered open, bidden by an unfamiliar but rhythmic sound that now rang out across the playground. Buffy sat up straight, the hairs on the back of her neck standing erect in warning. The stake was poised in her hand within the next moment but something prevented the Slayer from rising. The odd sense of serenity was disconcerting enough in itself.

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she watched the child at play, gripping the ancient chains of the swing in pale fists, leaning backwards and extending her legs as she encouraged her body higher into the air. After no more than a minute had elapsed, the child cocked her head to one side and suddenly turned to affix her gaze upon Buffy's face. Slowly, the little girl's rose red lips contorted into a grin.

The Slayer's blood froze in her veins and her heart stuttered to a halt.


	25. Chapter 25

_**Bargaining - XXV**_

'_**Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name,**_

_**But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game…'**_

_- Sympathy For The Devil by The Rolling Stones_

Buffy's hand flew to her chest in alarm. There was a distinct absence of the familiar pounding of her heart against her ribcage but despite this rather disturbing fact Buffy had yet to be effected in the slightest. She found herself sucking in unnecessary gulps of air, her fingers clutching at her throat in terror as though she might restart her dormant heart through sheer will alone.

The child hopped deftly from her perch on the swing and took a few steps towards the Slayer, her expression one of curiosity. Buffy remained seated on the bench as she wrestled with the sense of panic that threatened to overwhelm her. The stake had long since been abandoned but Buffy had entertained few thoughts of attempting to employ it against the creature anyway. Buffy was certain that any being that could still her heartbeat with a mere look would require far more than a run of the mill stake to dispatch it.

"Hello Buffy," the little girl cooed as she waggled the tips of her fingers in greeting, "I'm so pleased to finally meet you. This pleasure is all mine, I assure you."

The girl's voice was high and melodic as that of a child should be, yet somehow it carried an undertone that was undeniably chilling. Her shoulder length ebony hair was gathered into plaits that had been tied with a royal blue ribbon that served to heighten the intensity of her eyes. Her whole appearance was haunting, from her almost translucent skin to the quaint pinafore and blouse she wore.

"What have you done to me?" Buffy demanded, her body stiffening reflexively as the child drew to a halt a few paces before her. "Am I… am I dead?"

The little girl giggled, her nose wrinkling appreciatively at the apparent joke.

"Oh silly goose, no!" she replied, beginning to fidget with the hem of her skirt as she observed the Slayer. "Nothing in Hell is allowed to live. You should know that, Slayer. Everything will return to it's natural state when we are done. Cross my heart and hope to… die!"

Buffy swallowed hard as the child once more dissolved into fits of mocking laughter. The Slayer felt her anger welling but the presence of an invisible hand prevented her from acting upon it.

"Who are you? And where are we?" Buffy shouted, "what have you done with Angel?"

The girl's laughter subsided after a beat and she gazed coolly at the Slayer.

"So many questions," she lisped, pausing to toss her braids over her shoulder with an air of nonchalance that escaped many adults. "Where to begin?"

"Who are you?" Buffy growled through gritted teeth. She knew that she aught to make every effort to contain her fury since the enemy she currently faced had yet to make either it's intentions or capabilities apparent. But Buffy was filled with the odd sense that whatever this being was, it was not intending for this particular meeting to end in violence on either part.

"I have many names and indeed many faces," the girl replied, her cheeks colouring somewhat as she smiled. The gesture illuminated her features and Buffy noted for the first time that the child was really quite hauntingly beautiful.

"I don't speak cryptic wise-ass demon," Buffy spat, her fingernails digging into the edge of the bench. She blinked in surprise as a chunk of wood broke off in her hands as a result of the intensity of her grip. At least she now knew her strength had not been effected by the demon's parlour trick. The girl merely shrugged in response, the smile never once wavering despite Buffy's murderous demeanour. She was clearly as unafraid of the Slayer as a lion would be of a gazelle.

"Abbadon, Asmodai, Belial, Iblis, Beezlebub…" she recited in a state of obvious boredom. Her flawless white teeth glinted as her smile widened in an almost predatory fashion, "Satan."

Buffy stared at the figure of the child before her. Her mouth dropped open as comprehension dawned less than a second after the final name had spilled from the girl's lips.

"No, you can't be, that's just not… not possible…" Buffy stammered, reluctant to believe the gravity of the revelation, "you're just a child."

"Call me Lucy if it helps," the girl replied with a shrug. "I am what you perceive me to be, Buffy. I take whatever form is required of me at the time. Humans are so… predictable in their preferences; to a lonely, unattractive housewife, I am the handsome stranger who hangs on her every word; to a dying soldier on the battlefield, I am the cavalry come to lend a helping hand; and, to a vampire slayer born to protect all that is good and pure, I am the very picture of innocence."

"And so this is…" Buffy whispered, sweeping her hand across the expanse of the playground and swallowing hard. She failed to quash the lump that had risen in her throat and so instead chose to use the feeling of discomfort to ground herself.

The child, Lucy as she had sardonically referred to herself, nodded once.

"You see what I wish you to see. This setting was the one that served my own means best."

"Why am I here?" Buffy hissed, leaning forwards in her seat and grinding her teeth together to keep from fruitlessly launching herself at the child, "where is Angel?"

"You are here because of Angel," Lucy replied, her tone suddenly growing cold where it had once been sunny. Buffy froze, unsure of the meaning behind the response she had received.

"Angel has been quite the naughty boy," Lucy persisted, beginning to pace the ground before the bench, her head bowed and hands interlaced behind her back. "I thought for a while he had managed to slip through the net and gotten himself staked or decapitated before I could collect what's rightfully mine. I was most pleased to learn from Cerberus that he was in fact alive in the city… just waiting for his Slayer to come. You see, everything down there was all because of him. If he had just stopped skulking around in the shadows then this all could have been resolved months ago."

"I don't understand," Buffy faltered, her brow furrowing, "what's rightfully yours?"

Lucy paused, turning to regard Buffy with an infuriating smirk.

"Indeed," Lucy answered tartly, "when Angel waved his right to the fulfilment of the Shan-Su prophecy, he apparently failed to realise that he was actually signing away his soul… to me."

"The what?" Buffy demanded, now beginning to struggle against the invisible bonds that held her. Something in the creature's tone evoked a deep sense of desperation within her and Buffy suddenly felt helpless against the instinctual reactions of her own body.

Lucy chuckled and shook her head, "Yes, you never did know that Angel was to be granted his humanity one day. A reward for atoning for his crimes. But he signed all this away to save his pathetic city. It appears that a life with you at his side didn't mean quite as much as he doth protest."

Buffy growled savagely, straining now to move her body more than an inch away from the bench she appeared to be held fast to. Lucy did not even flinch.

"No, he wouldn't," Buffy screamed, her arms flailing desperately at the air, "you can't do that, you can't have his soul."

"Oh but Angel's soul has always been bound for damnation," Lucy hissed, moving with sudden inhuman speed to plant herself directly before the Slayer. She leaned forwards so that the tips of their noses were almost touching, and Buffy was suddenly and inexplicably still despite her continuing urge to fight.

"From the moment he was born into this world, that boy's been destined to walk the wrong path. It doesn't matter how many lives he saves now or how many bad guys he slays, Angel will never truly escape his destiny. He's a monster even without the parasite that squats in his pitiful husk."

"No, no, no!" Buffy shrieked, unable to do more than writhe in her seat as she was subdued with such ease it was almost embarrassing.

"I am afraid the contract has already been signed in blood," Lucy said, shrugging in a very matter of fact fashion. She paused momentarily as though considering some new option that had only just occurred to her, and then returned her attention once more to the Slayer.

Buffy fell silent, awaiting the bait that she felt sure was about to be dangled before her.

"Unless," Lucy drawled, running the tip of her index finger across the peak of Buffy's cheekbone, "that is, you are willing to make with me a new deal? One that better serves all who are involved."

Buffy swallowed hard and cast her eyes downward.

"I see you are willing to listen at least," Lucy crooned, clapping her hands together in a display of childlike delight. Buffy shuddered, suddenly more repulsed than assuaged by the childish form.

"You want my soul," Buffy stated, unwilling to draw out the pretences any longer than necessary. However, much to her surprise, Lucy blinked in confusion and shook her head with a vehemence that caused a wisp of dark hair to escape its confines.

"I would have thought that you knew such things are beyond even me," Lucy said, her lip curling distastefully, "not even I am powerful enough to harvest the soul of a Slayer. You are an ultimate force of good and the destiny of your spirit was written centuries before your birth. There are some forces in the universe that not even the Devil can argue with."

Buffy remained motionless and mute, patiently waiting for the demon to continue.

"What I propose is this, Slayer," Lucy said, a smile beginning to weave its way once again across her face. "I will spare Angel and allow you his soul in return for that of another. An eye for an eye if you will. The next being you hold in your heart with real love who falls at the hands of the supernatural will take his place, and you will live out the rest of your days knowing that _you _were the one who damned them to eternal torment."

"What?" Buffy uttered, her voice escaping in a barely audible gasp that seemed to encourage new delight in Lucy's features.

"It's the closest I will ever come to seeing you in Hell, Slayer," Lucy jeered, her pupils clouding over with a black ink that had dissipated as soon as it had appeared. Buffy shuddered involuntarily and Lucy sighed. The demon pulled away and reached into the pocket of the pinafore from which she produced an hourglass no bigger than her palm. Buffy eyed the item suspiciously, although it appeared to harbour no obvious sinister properties. The grains of grey sand contained within the glass sparkled like minute diamonds in the pathetic light that filtered through the clouds.

"You have until the last grain falls to decide," Lucy chirruped, raising the hourglass above her head in order to display it more clearly to Buffy. The Slayer was suddenly struck by the size of the object and found herself wondering exactly how many individual grains had been afforded to her decision.

Buffy could only watch in quiet reflection as the glass was turned on its end and placed upon the bench at her side. Finally, the grains of sand began to fall in unison with her silent tears.


	26. Chapter 26

_**Signed, Sealed, Delivered - XXVI**_

'_Never sell your soul' - Laura Schlessinger_

Watched by two pairs of unblinking eyes, the final grain of sand slipped through the twisted neck of the hourglass and landed atop the mound within. Buffy inhaled sharply and her gaze ticked without a pause to Lucy, who pressed the tips of her fingers together and smiled. Her features were illuminated by her evident glee.

"And so what is it to be then, Slayer?" Lucy inquired, tilting her head to one side and appraising Buffy with curious eyes, "would you trade the soul of your lover for that of one of your pathetic band of worshippers and tag-alongs?"

Buffy froze and resisted determinedly against her body's urge to shudder. It was a battle that she soon lost and her resulting tremor only caused Lucy's smile to grow ever wider.

"You can't ask me to do this," Buffy whispered, wiping at her moistening eyes with the back of her hand, "there must be something else… another way…"

"And yet here I am," Lucy replied, her tone even and bored, "asking."

Buffy swallowed hard, all anger having dissipated now this awful moment of decision was upon her. The next words out of her mouth would seal the fate of one whom she loved more dearly than anything in the world, and the weight of the burdens pressing on her shoulders suddenly threatened to crush her.

"Tick tock, Slayer…" Lucy hissed.

**x-x-x**

Faith swung the axe in a wide arc above her head and grunted in satisfaction moments later as she succeeded in simultaneously decapitating two demons. Their species was one unknown to Faith but in the thick of the battle she refused to allow such trivial matters to bother her. Scrutinising the demons carefully for a second, she stored away a few of the more key details of their appearance for later mention to Giles, who would undoubtedly be thrilled by the prospect of research.

Faith ploughed ahead through the streets, gritting her teeth as she paused in order to drive the blade of the axe into the chest cavity of a Retfrechner demon that had rushed her. The blow dispatched the creature cleanly but only seconds later his attack was resumed by a trio of overly virile vampires. Faith met each of their punches with a kind of grim enjoyment but the Slayer was under no illusions that if the cavalry did not arrive soon, she would be overwhelmed. With all three vampires dusted in under two minutes, Faith raked her fingers through her hair to dispel the ash and moved onward.

Demons now swarmed the streets, pouring like an evil tide from buildings and dark recesses as though the sudden demise of the force-field had encouraged them from their various lairs. Faith was reminded of an angry swarm of wasps smoked from their nest. She shook her head to banish the thought, realising that it was probably not advisable to dwell on her phobias given the current situation.

The silver blade of the axe was almost unrecognisable, coated with the entrails and bodily fluids of over twenty differing species of monster. The thick substance that now decorated the metal was an impressive rainbow of colours. Since crossing the border line Faith had lost count of the number of creatures and atrocities she had been forced to dispatch with her weapon. She did not doubt that Spike and the potentials would also be forced to fight their way towards her and the centre of the city she desired to reach.

Faith emitted a startled cry as she was suddenly seized from behind by a barbed tentacle that dragged her body to the tarmac. Struggling for breath from her position on the ground, Faith peered downwards to examine the puncture wounds that now wound their way across her abdomen. She pressed her palm to one of the shallow holes, wincing as she withdrew bloodied fingers.

"Hey Squidward," Faith yelled hoarsely, her voice a little shaky as pain caught up with her, "wanna dance? My cards free baby."

The demon barked something unintelligible at the Slayer, who rolled onto her knees and then clambered to her feet. She swayed briefly before managing to regroup, momentarily overwhelmed by her fatigue and a series of minor injuries.

Faith examined the creature before her with interest, noting the pinkish sheen of it's skin in the moonlight and the six tentacles that roiled away from it's lumpy body. It almost seemed to glide towards Faith as it employed it's limbs to push itself forward along the moist ground. Left in it's wake was a trail of silver slime that appeared to be throwing off a pungent stench that highly resembled sulphur. Faith squinted, searching the demon's body for a pair of eyes but giving up quickly as she appeared to find none.

With a shrug, Faith launched herself at the monster, her blade slicing through the air.

**x-x-x**

Lucy examined the crimson scrawl that adorned the scroll of parchment she held stretched out in both hands. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she held her breath for several moments, her head inclined slightly toward the darkened sky. The child appeared to inhale deeply and then the malevolent grin returned to her face.

Buffy watched, sickened, as the child's eyeballs flickered at speed from side to side behind her closed lids before finally and suddenly halting. When Lucy opened her eyes once again, her irises were stained a deep ruby red and her pupils had shrunk to near insignificant black specks.

"And so it is done, Slayer," Lucy growled, her voice now failing to emerge as the countenance of the child she wore should dictate. The demon spoke to Buffy with a tone that dripped pure malice. It's words resonated impressively, sounding more than several octaves lower than the average man and as though they were spoken through a tunnel of some sort. Buffy could not find it within herself to respond with the fear she knew she aught to. She suddenly felt utterly drained, lifeless to the point beyond resurrection.

Buffy cast her eyes ashamedly to the floor, biting her bottom lip in order to prevent the tears falling and betraying her composed visage. She glanced at her right index finger, now weeping a thin trickle of blood from a self inflicted wound, and she felt a stab of self loathing. She knew this was a feeling she should become accustomed to suffering.

"Poor Slayer," Lucy cooed, rolling the scroll up neatly and concealing it within the deep pocket of her pinafore, "all is not lost, yet."

Buffy's eyes narrowed and her head whipped up as she affixed the demon with a piercing stare. The child only chuckled, tossing her head back against the sudden wind that whipped up around them. Lucy's ebony plaits were buffeted into the air by the gale so that they soon stood erect at either side of her head in an almost amusingly ironic manner.

"You are free to go now, Slayer," Lucy called above the howling of the wind and the sudden clap of thunder that shattered Buffy's guilty reverie. With a final smirk she called out, "Insquequo nos opportunus iterum…"

Before Buffy could decipher the meaning behind the words, she was once again falling.

**x-x-x**

Faith stared up into the wide open maw of the demon that now sported half it's original number of tentacles. This was the fact that would console the Slayer if only a little during her final moments. She was chagrined to say the least that the Watcher's diaries would now include the description of her death by calamari and so she held on to her one small victory to buoy her spirits as the end drew near.

The demon's mouth, positioned on the underside of it's body, stretched into a circle almost large enough to consume Faith's entirety in one gulp. The Slayer peered down the creature's cavernous throat, noting the spiralling lines of jagged teeth inside, and squeezed her eyes shut. In that moment, Faith accepted her fate and chose to embrace it with dignity. She waited for the last unbearable wave of pain to wash over her whilst at the same time enjoying a kind of inner peace that generally alluded her.

When the agony she had anticipated failed to arrive, Faith grew somewhat impatient. She had always visualised for herself a glorious yet brief demise and by toying with her this demon was rather vexingly destroying her aspirations. Opening one eye, the Slayer glanced upward.

With her mouth open in awe Faith observed the body of the demon floating ten feet in the air above her almost as though suspended by invisible strings. The monster writhed and struggled against it's unseen captor for a few more seconds before suddenly it's body began to swell. Sensing the outcome of the situation, Faith flung her hands in front of her face just as the demon's body exploded like a party balloon. With a disgusted groan, Faith shook her hands at the ground, dislodging chunks of pink flesh and droplets of slime from her skin. Although thoroughly grateful for her reprieve, the Slayer was also totally grossed out.

Turning to the right with an air of feigned casualness, Faith smiled as her gaze befell Willow. The witch stood on the opposing side of the street, her arms poker straight at her sides and her hair glowing with an otherworldly white hue. Over her right shoulder a single US soldier stood, his rifle aimed indecisively at Faith. But it was another more sinister sight behind the witch that could not fail to draw the Slayer's attention.

Over a hundred people stood in orderly rows behind Willow; a collection of men, women and children of varying ages who shared similar expressions of bloodthirsty fury. Shaking her head in disbelief, Faith took in their tattered clothing, dirt smeared faces, and generally unkempt appearances. She could vaguely discern the remnants of the odd business suit, school uniform or pair of Levis hanging from their emaciated frames. However, this single fact did little to restore allusions of the humanity that had been driven from them during their six months of imprisonment.

Some clutched sharp rocks in their hands whilst the more capable wielded planks of wood and odd scraps of metal. Even the children had armed themselves and stood in their silent formation regarding the Slayer like a common enemy. Faith guessed that this was all that was left of the population of Los Angeles and, although disconcerted to say the least, she approved of Willow's resourcefulness.

"We needed an army," Willow said as though replying to an unspoken question. Faith simply nodded and retrieved her axe from the ground as Willow called out in a voice brimming with authority, "She's a friend."

The mob did not relax but instead collectively focused their gaze over Faith's shoulder. A sudden cacophony of demonic snarling was a helpful indication of what lay in wait behind the Slayer. With a roar that caused even Faith's heart to grow cold, the now barely human crowd surged forwards and into battle.


	27. Chapter 27

_**To The Death - XXVII**_

'_**Yeah it's holding me, morphing me,**_

_**And forcing me to strive,**_

_**To be endlessly cold within,**_

_**And dreaming I'm alive'**_

_- Hysteria By Muse_

It was surely the savagery of the fray that would be foremost in Willow's mind for the remainder of her days. The humans swept in a wave of tight-pressed bodies towards their target, an alien bloodlust present in their eyes and murderous intent clear on their faces. Those who had never so much as raised a hand in anger before smirked in enjoyment as their fingers found purchase at the throats of their enemy and their shoddy weapons were granted purpose.

The demons were undeniably stronger but their passion for the fight paled in comparison to the humans they had held captive for so many months. Vengeance was rife in the air and Willow shuddered as she watched a girl of no more than fifteen repeatedly crushing a rock against the skull of a demon who had long since breathed it's last. However, the girl continued relentlessly in her quest to shatter the creature's cranial bone until the green mass of it's brain poked out of the hole she had created. Her face was smattered with droplets of luminous blood but the girl barely seemed to notice her macabre war paint as she moved away from her victim in search of the next.

Willow swept her gaze around the area, searching for the weaker members of the charge who she knew may need her assistance. She spotted May in the distance, grappling with a vampire who seemed to be gaining the upper hand with his teeth dangerously close to the woman's jugular. Willow had barely begun to call forth a fireball in her palm to instantly inflame the demon when May produced a shaft of wood from behind her back and delivered it squarely into the vampire's heart. With her head held high and her makeshift stake gripped tightly in one hand, May stalked through the cloud of resulting ash.

The witch turned her attentions elsewhere. A small smile broke out across her face as she watched Grey's hulking form disappear over the horizon, shepherding eight children towards the now attainable safety of the borderline. Willow murmured a few words of prayer to the Mother Goddess before returning to the battle at hand.

**x-x-x**

Faith traded blows with the Torak-Khan without barely breaking a sweat. She seemed to remember these guys being a whole lot tougher the last time she had encountered them but she chalked her sudden success up to little more than experience, and wasted no time in severing the creature's head with her axe.

The adrenaline that pumped through her veins succeeded for the time being in masking the pain from her various acquired wounds and Faith was firing on all cylinders. She danced elegantly away from her enemy's blows and delivered her own with shocking precision. The blade of her axe whistled as it whipped around her body, slicing demonic limbs and ending half-lives. The smug smirk never once wavered from Faith's face. Until above her head, the sky began to open.

Faith lowered her weapon and stumbled back several paces as the clouds overhead divided to reveal a flickering gateway. Faith's mouth fell open and she noted that those in her peripheral vision had also frozen in order to stare at the sight before them.

"What the fu…" Faith began as an object suddenly tumbled at high velocity from the open gate and connected with her body. Faith's legs collapsed beneath her and despite her sudden breathlessness she began pummelling the weight that crushed her in an attempt to dislodge it. Faith paused momentarily as the thing let out a familiar groan.

"B?" Faith exclaimed, her confusion evident as she squirmed around in order to catch a better glimpse of her assailant.

"Faith?" Buffy countered. The Slayers rolled apart and leapt to their feet in perfect synchronicity. Whilst Faith simply stared at her friend in silent amazement, Buffy's head whipped around in every direction as though she was searching desperately for something that escaped her. Her eyes roved across the battlefield but she seemed to barely recognise the obscurity of the scene before her.

"Duck…" Faith yelled as a Polgara demon jabbed a protruding spike in the direction of Buffy's head. Buffy dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way before kicking her leg out to trip the demon. The Polgara tumbled to the ground and in an instant Buffy had mounted it and snapped it's neck. Faith stared after her in shock as Buffy pushed her way through the throng of bodies, not even pausing to slay the monsters at her fingertips.

"B?" Faith yelled, her expression indignant as she continued to watch Buffy move further towards the centre of the battle, remaining inactive. Faith's attention was suddenly diverted by the distinct sound of hissing at her right elbow. She turned just in time to see the twelve foot Cobra strike.

**x-x-x**

Willow drew her arm back into a pitcher's pose and flung the fireball at the snake-demon without a second's pause. The creature hissed and writhed as it's body exploded into flames and Faith was able to slice it in half with her axe. The two burning pieces of the Cobra's body dropped to the tarmac and were still. Faith turned in order to shoot Willow a grateful look but, before words could be exchanged between the two, a sudden rumbling from the sky drew their attention.

The gateway from which Buffy had emerged appeared to be growing larger and the centre began to swirl rapidly in the manner of a vortex. Willow dropped to the ground as a vampire sailed past her head, narrowly missing striking her. With her palms pressed to the floor, the witch gazed around her to see that the remainder of the humans had adopted a similar pose to hers whilst the bodies of hundreds of demons and monsters glided overhead. The enraged snarls and shrieks were muffled somewhat by the gale the vortex created but their fury was palpable nonetheless.

Willow watched in awe as the demons were sucked through the gateway one by one, their cries dying on the wind behind them. The gale picked up gravity and soon every demonic body, dead or alive, was hurtling towards the gate's open maw. As the final demonic carcass was sucked through the void, the gateway dissipated into nothing and the sky grew clear.

For several minutes there was silence. Humans stumbled to their feet, bleary eyed as though doubting the truth behind all they had born witness to over the last few months of their unfortunate lives. They exchanged trepid glances with each other but remained silent, seemingly lost for words in the wake of such carnage. Then, suddenly, a smattering of applause erupted from somewhere in the crowd and was quickly taken up in an infectious wave. Willow found herself smiling and joining in with the guttural cries of triumph that whipped up around them. The battle was over and, to a degree, victory had been secured.

"B?" Faith demanded, her expression sombre as she pushed her way through the throng of embracing people in order to reach Willow's side. "She dropped right through that gate thing before the demons got sucked up."

Willow narrowed her eyes in confusion before turning on her heel in order to survey the crowd for the missing Slayer. The people parted for Willow with grateful smiles, some even reaching out to caress her shoulder and touch her face as though she were suddenly revered for her part in helping them break free. Willow's cheeks grew hot and she blushed, but for the meantime she pushed her embarrassment aside as she searched the crowd for her friend.

She turned back to Faith momentarily as a group of familiar voices claimed her attention once more from the task at hand. Spike and the four potentials drew up to the crowd, slowing from a break neck run as they seemed to realise that the necessity for their presence had long passed. Faith rolled her eyes and slapped her palm to her head in a pantomime of despair. The potentials coloured a little and lowered the weapons they had been awkwardly clutching to their sides. Hayley bit her lip and glanced at the ground, whilst the others shifted their weight uncomfortably or attempted to appear nonplussed by their spectacular fail. Only the blonde vampire in the centre of their midst seemed truly unperturbed by their atrocious timing.

"So, uhm, did we miss anything good then?" Spike inquired jovially. Willow turned away in disgust.

Finally her gaze fell upon a lithe blonde figure in the distance that she knew so well. Willow's mouth dropped open in astonishment.

**x-x-x**

Buffy was the first to clamber to her feet once the portal had closed and she wasted no time in picking her way across the bodies underfoot that hampered her progress. She searched every face she passed but the gesture was hopelessly futile and Buffy found her anger welling within her. She reached up to the silver cross she wore suspended from her neck, the one Angel had entrusted to her upon their first meeting, and furiously ripped it from her throat. Buffy grunted as she hurled the offending piece of jewellery far into the distance and attempted to ignore the faint pang of remorse the gesture warranted. That part of her life was over now.

As she continued to move through the crowd of survivors, a sudden instinct drew her towards the immediate left. Buffy turned and her breath escaped her in an instant.

Angel stood bathed in the moonlight, his expression confused and somewhat pained. His hand was pressed to the back of his head and his eyes were narrowed as though he had yet to determine the sheer reason for his being. After a moment of Buffy's eyes upon him, Angel sensed the attention and glanced up towards the Slayer. Slowly, his lips curved upwards into an inviting smile and Buffy found herself running full pelt into the arms of her lover.

She collapsed sobbing against Angel's chest, unconcerned by the looks they were receiving from Willow and the others. Allowing her tears to cascade freely down her cheeks, Buffy wrapped her arms around Angel's waist and drew herself onto her toes in order to place her ear against his breastbone. She closed her eyes as she became entranced by the musical rhythm of his heart beat.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Aftermath - XXVIII**_

'_It is the youth who must inherit the tribulation, the sorrow… that are the_

_aftermath of war' - Herbert Hoover_

_**The Early Bird Motel**_

The gathering of friends, both old and new, was a far more subdued state of affairs than Willow would have anticipated. Faith perched on the edge of Giles' bed with the television remote grasped in one hand as she watched the national news report regarding the sudden activity within Los Angeles. The four potentials sat cross-legged on the floor at her feet like a litter of eager puppies. Each obediently stared at the flickering screen as though the action may offer them some redemption in Faith's eyes. Willow could sense from the older slayer's body language that their nearness did little but add fuel to the fire of her irritation. However, with a faintly evil smirk, Willow decided to allow the potentials the opportunity to work that out independently.

Willow turned her attention to the reporter's commentary without bothering to shift her gaze from Faith's face.

"_The government are keeping fairly tight-lipped as to the exact nature of this supposed second terror attack upon the already devastated city of Los Angeles, but reports have reached us that at around eight pm last night the entire military guard surrounding L.A. were rendered unconscious by a sudden blast of mysterious origins. Shortly afterwards no less than one hundred survivors crossed over the borderline from the city, some in dire need of medical attention, and all claiming to have no memory of the prior six months."_

A knowing smile broke out across Faith's features and Willow found her own lips mirroring the action. Allowing the reporter's words to fade into a dull background thrum, the witch shot a glance toward the rest of the gang who by mutual agreement had all gathered in Giles' motel room to unwind. Giles himself, still in a rather delicate state, occupied the reclining chair with a glass of water at hand and a cold compress laid flat across his forehead. His eyes were closed and his glasses absent, the only true indication of his conscious state being the pitiful moans he emitted every so often. Willow smirked, satisfied with the knowledge that the lecture regarding her and Buffy's recklessness would be a long time coming. In the aftermath of the battle, and knowing that thanks to their efforts so much more had been gained than lost, Willow found it difficult to regret her support of Buffy's somewhat half-baked plan.

The vampire Slayer in question stood on the balcony of the motel room encapsulated in the arms of her newly transformed lover. Buffy and Angel had remained locked in the same unmoving and blissful state for the last three hours. Neither seemed willing nor ready to break their stance despite the fact that it had been over twenty-four hours since either had last been granted the opportunity for sleep.

Willow had found herself brushing tears from her eyes as she had witnessed the couple drinking in their first sunrise together. Her heart swelled as she observed the timeless connection between the lovers that had seemed only to strengthen and never wane during their separation. It truly gave Willow hope that one day something as beautiful may be intended for her.

**x-x-x**

Angel bestowed a gentle kiss on the golden crown of Buffy's head and released a lengthy sigh of contentment. In his arms, Buffy shifted, allowing a little more of her weight to be entrusted to Angel's body. Buffy was beyond exhausted and yet foolishly determined to draw out this moment of happiness for as long as she were capable of standing.

For what seemed to them both to be the thousandth time since leaving L.A., Buffy raised her palm to Angel's chest and placed it over his heart. The responding jolt beneath her fingertips brought a fresh smile and new light to Buffy's features. She felt suddenly invigorated as though merely experiencing Angel's heartbeat had renewed her own.

"I still can't believe it," Angel said, shaking his head as though to reflect his words, "after I signed that contract I never once thought…"

"Shhh," Buffy instructed, turning abruptly to face her lover and silencing him with an eager kiss. "I don't know how and I don't know why… but I don't care. Something odd but incredibly amazing has happened to us and so for once in my life, I am not going to question it."

Angel nodded before leaning his head down in order to instigate a second and more fevered kiss. Buffy's lips parted, inviting his tongue to slip into her mouth, and her hands soon found purchase on the back of his neck. The kiss lasted for several minutes and the passion contained within truly surprised both. Finally, they broke apart, gasping for air and embarrassed at their eagerness. Angel assumed that it would take a while for the feeling of guilt to subside since they were in the habit of fighting against their attraction. He looked forward to the day that it did.

"I like that I don't need to feel bad that I want to kiss you," Angel murmured huskily, drawing Buffy back into his arms where her body seemed to fit perfectly.

"Me too," Buffy replied, leaning her head back against Angel's shoulder and attempting unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.

"We should really sleep now, my love," Angel coaxed, entwining their fingers and beginning to draw Buffy towards the sliding door from which they had emerged. Buffy shook her head stubbornly and her bottom lip protruded in a pout that Angel found both simultaneously adorable and infuriating.

"I don't want this day to ever end," she insisted, attempting to pull Angel back into their comfortable embrace. She refrained from using her full Slayer strength against him since they had yet to test the extent of the ability that Angel had retained. It was strange but invigorating to force herself to view Angel in an almost breakable context.

"We'll make another just like it tomorrow," Angel promised, his heart shuddering guiltily as he recalled a time in which he had recited those same words. He shook his head in order to dispel the memory that he shared with no other mortal, and pulled Buffy towards the warmth of the inner motel room.

"We have the rest of our lives, Buffy," Angel vowed with conviction, his intense brown eyes shimmering with un-communicated emotion as he stepped into the light. "Everything we have ever wanted is ours."

With a sinking heart and a smile that she hoped would not betray her, Buffy realised that she was unsure of exactly what degree of truth existed within that promise.

**x-x-x**

Angel froze as he entered the motel room with Buffy following close behind him, their hands still entwined. The volume on the television had been turned up to the maximum level and the entire gang, including a decidedly shaky Giles, had gathered around the small box. Only Spike hung back from the group, instead leaning against the farthest wall wearing an unreadable expression that succeeded only in alarming Angel further.

Buffy drew to a halt at Angel's side and glanced up at him questioningly. Without speaking, Angel inclined his head towards the television set.

The female reporter sat behind the expanse of the desk and desperately shuffled the stack of papers before her. She wore far too much coral lipstick and a decidedly ruffled expression.

"_Well, it appears we have some breaking news," _the reporter said, her nasal voice rising an octave or so as she squinted at the alien words appearing on her autocue. _"The government has this morning issued a separate statement declaring that the previously ruined town of Sunnydale in Southern California appears to have… risen up from the ground once more."_

Buffy and Angel exchanged horrified glances before the reporter's whine once more drew their attention.

"_Experts are so far at a loss to explain this anomaly, after the then-deserted town disappeared below ground twelve months ago due to a suspected earthquake. The government are preparing to send a team to the site this afternoon in order to establish the structural integrity of Sunnydale, and also discover the possible reason for it's sudden reappearance."_

Willow turned mutely to regard her best friend whose unwavering gaze was trained upon the images of the resurrected Sunnydale that had been collected via helicopter by the news station. The question upon Willow's face was evident but Buffy was relieved that for now she appeared not to wish to voice it. It was Faith that finally shattered the stunned silence that had descended, her tone even and her eyes blank.

"What do we do now, B.?" she inquired, cocking her head to one side and looking to Buffy to lead.

The blonde slayer swallowed hard and was vaguely comforted by the small squeeze that Angel inflicted upon her hand. The entire room was staring at her, even Spike watching her face in order to attempt to discern her decision before she had even revealed it.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy used all of thirty seconds to weigh up their options before she spoke, no hint of indecision present in her voice.

"Pack your things… we're going home."


	29. Chapter 29

_**Home - XXVIIII**_

'_**So much anger so deeply ingrained**_

_**Seemed a burden that was hers alone**_

_**She didn't think that there was anything wrong**_

_**With wanting a life that she could call her own…'**_

_- Home by Sarah McLachlan_

_**Sunnydale, California**_

Revello Drive stood desolate and in darkness save for the faint pools of light cast onto the sidewalk from the rows of streetlamps. The houses had lain dormant for the better part of a year now and yet they had somehow failed to fall to the wrack or ruin one would expect from such abandonment. Each luscious green lawn appeared as perfectly manicured as it had the day the town had been deserted, and every pane of glass in every window on the street gleamed in the moonlight as though freshly polished. Rather uncharacteristically for Sunnydale, the town that had been dubbed _'Boca del Inferno' _by its original Spanish settlers, nothing stirred amongst the shadows.

The silence was eerie and unsettling for innumerable reasons, most of which Jack O'Conlan attempted not to contemplate as he moved down the street in his bulky radiation suit with his Geiger counter held outstretched. The needle on the monitor had not so much as flinched since Jack had set foot in the town, and he knew thanks to the two-way radio strapped to his belt that the building inspection team had also found nothing to evoke concern during their search.

Jack swallowed hard and finally reached up to begin unfastening his helmet. Once removed, he placed the article under his arm and gulped in large amounts of sweet air. Perspiration poured down his forehead but Jack did not concern himself with wiping it away for the moment. He stood in the centre of the street and spun a slow, full circle, taking in every detail of the idyllic little town he had been sent to investigate.

Jack had never seen something so remarkable in all his twenty- two years working with the US government. Sunnydale itself was like a hundred other Southern Californian towns in respects to its architecture and general structure, but what was truly extraordinary was the fact the entire town seemed wholly unscathed by its sudden descent below ground. It was literally as though the place had been spat out without first being chewed, and it was this very analogy that made Jack's knees tremble.

Jack, like so many others under the government's payroll, had heard whispers of the goings on in the town of Sunnydale for several years now. The persistent string of grave robberies and gruesome murders plus a missing persons list long enough to require a filing cabinet for storage could not all be merely due to coincidence. Something strange had been occurring in Sunnydale for a while now, a theory that was compounded in Jack's mind when the town had been swallowed up into the ground the previous year.

Everything now seemed so perfect in comparison; too perfect for Jack's liking. An experience such as this should have rendered the town uninhabitable for at least a year, and certainly subject to some serious renovation and repair work. But so far, the detailed search of Sunnydale by a team of the most experienced experts in the field had failed to turn up so much as a pothole.

Jack removed his radio from his waistband and twiddled the knobs awkwardly between his thumb and forefinger, which were still encased within their fat protective gloving.

"Guys, this is Jack O'Conlan. I'm on Revello and the Geiger is normal. Requesting permission to return? Over," Jack mumbled into the mouthpiece, hoping that his shaky voice did not betray his unease. A quiet breeze rustled through the branches of the trees in a nearby yard and Jack shuddered involuntarily. The radio crackled into life within the palm of his hand and Jack stared down at it with renewed eagerness.

"Sure thing Jack, over," came the responding voice, laden with boredom and sheer annoyance at having been disturbed.

With an audible sigh of relief, Jack O'Conlan cast a final glance around the vacant street and swallowed hard. He did not envy those previous residents that would choose to return to the town of Sunnydale even a single iota. Jack turned on his heel and scurried towards the safety of his colleagues, his pace growing more brisk with every passing second.

**x-x-x**

_**One month later…**_

Buffy Summers stared up at the house she had once called home, and shuddered.

1630 Revello Drive had not changed at all from what Buffy could recall, and it was this particular fact that filled her now with such a heightened sense of unease. Standing at the foot of the long driveway, Buffy noted that her mother's curtains still hung in the windows and the flag on the mailbox stood erect as though less than a day had passed since her last glimpse of the house.

Buffy glanced over her shoulder as she sensed someone approach. Angel rested his hand on his fiancée's arm and squeezed reassuringly whilst moving to her side in order to appraise the sight before them.

Angel exhaled slowly as his gaze swept the late Joyce Summers' home, which appeared none the worse for wear considering its brief stint below ground. In fact, upon driving through the town following their arrival, the gang had soon realised that Sunnydale seemed somehow untouched by the whole fiasco. They had decided after much deliberation and a fleeting trip to Rome to deposit four weary potentials, that the old gang would reunite for the return to Sunnydale in order to maintain a façade of normalcy. Willow and Xander barely questioned Buffy's decision to return to the Hellmouth and quickly vowed to follow her lead, whilst Giles' commitment to the venture was never once uncertain. Dawn had appeared keen to resume her studies in Sunnydale amongst her old friends, and even Spike had seemed uncharacteristically eager to play some part in the Slayer's latest plan.

It had therefore been unanimously decided that Faith and Robin would assume control of the school in Rome whilst Buffy and the gang returned to Sunnydale in order to keep an eye on local events. No more than three weeks after Sunnydale had made its shocking reappearance on the Californian map, the government had declared the town fit for habitation after supposed reparations had been completed. Several days later Buffy and the others had touched down on American soil once again with little idea as to what would face them when they returned to their homes.

Giles was clearly uncertain as to what should be expected of Sunnydale since none of the previous Watcher diaries spoke of any kind of similar occurrence. Upon their return to Rome he had disappeared into his office for days on end, surrounded by piles of dusty ancient tomes and endless cups of tea that never seemed to empty. He had emerged looking rather more perplexed and dishevelled, and clearly none the wiser as to the hows or whys of the situation. In fact, he had even made the trans-Atlantic flight from Rome to America with his nose buried in a book bearing a rather questionable title regarding prophecy. Giles thrived on the possession of knowledge and not being able to provide answers to the questions posed was driving him to distraction.

"It's all so…" Dawn murmured as she wandered down the driveway, her hands clasped unnaturally tightly and her face pale, "perfect."

Buffy nodded and glanced at her younger sister as she spoke, "It's important that you remember, Dawnie, Sunnydale is more dangerous now than it's ever been. There's some weird funky mojo going on here and I need you to be vigilant at all times."

"Sure," Dawn replied meekly as she pushed her dark hair behind her ears and moved towards the front door she seemed almost reluctant to reach. Willow and Xander approached the Summers' driveway haltingly, arms interlinked and their faces wearing equal expressions of caution. Buffy was relieved to note that none of the gang appeared to be taking their return to the town lightly.

"Buffy?" Giles murmured, drawing up alongside the Slayer with his now ever-present stack of research volumes cradled in his arms. "May I have a word?"

Frowning in puzzlement, Buffy nodded and dropped her keys into Angel's outstretched palm. With a small smile, Angel stooped and planted a gentle kiss on Buffy's cheek before striding towards the house with the rest of the gang in tow.

"What is it, Giles?" Buffy inquired, folding her arms across her chest and smiling tiredly at her Watcher. Giles peered back at Buffy for several moments, wearing a curious expression that she did not immediately recognise.

"Buffy, is there something you wish to tell me?" Giles asked softly, suddenly averting his gaze to the lawn and sighing. Buffy planted her hands on her hips and shook her head.

"Giles, I'm sorry, but I'm jet lagged and currently operating in pissy-Slayer mode. Could you cut to the chase for me please?" Buffy demanded, one eyebrow arched as she watched Giles shift his weight nervously from one foot to another.

Giles cleared his throat before he spoke, clearly struggling with the news he was about to deliver.

"I uncovered a prophecy on the flight that I thought it best not to mention until I had correctly translated and studied it. After several hours of intense work, I am now fairly certain that I have an accurate translation from the original Aquitanian text."

"And this prophecy says what?" Buffy prompted, growing more agitated by the exchange as Giles appeared to prolong it, " 'Slayer that visits chewed up Hellmouth in for world of trouble?'. 'Sale at Barney's this weekend?' Come on, Giles."

Giles flushed a little and shook his head, before beginning to shuffle through a collection of papers he had draped awkwardly over his arm. Finding the one he desired, Giles raised it slightly and began reading aloud from his own erratic scrawl.

" 'And should the warrior of the light lay down with the conscience of the beast, there shall be heralded a birth that will defy all laws of nature and man, and ultimately bring about the end'."

Buffy stared mutely at Giles for several moments, her arms folded across her chest against the faint chill that hung in the evening air.

"Sorry, Giles, I seem to have misplaced my Cryptic to English dictionary," Buffy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "I've been wedged in economy class between Xander and someone who strongly resembled Mayor McCheese for the best part of the day; I have a carload of crap that doesn't even belong to me to unpack; and, a freshly resurrected Hellmouth to contend with on top of trying to find myself a job and plan a wedding on a budget of exactly fifty-five cents and a paperclip."

Giles nodded and Buffy noted for the first time how haggard and pale her Watcher appeared in the fading daylight. Softening suddenly, Buffy reached out towards Giles and affectionately squeezed his arm. Giles stiffened and cleared his throat.

"Very well, Buffy. Under the circumstances I will be rather blunt with my discoveries then," Giles replied, for the first time meeting Buffy's gaze. "I know… at least… I can only guess from this prophecy what exactly happened between Angel and yourself in L.A. before the Shan-Su prophecy had been restored. I only hope we can deal with those consequences… Buffy, I think you are pregnant."


	30. Chapter 30

_**Great Expectations - XXX**_

'_That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. _

_But, it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, _

_and think how different its course would have been' _

_- Great Expectations by Charles Dickens _

Very little had changed in regards to the interior of the Summers' home yet Dawn found it rather more alarming than wonderful that every last knick knack had managed to survive the underworld. She paused in front of her mother's antique display cabinet and her gaze lingered on the photograph of a smiling Joyce with her girls. The snapshot had been taken when Dawn was no more than ten years old and the Summers' women had escaped for a weekend break to the beach. As always Hank was absent from the frame, but the subsequent pang that Dawn felt in her chest had little to do with this fact. She had made peace with her father's estrangement many years ago and there was no more consideration to be given to the matter in her mind. Giles had quickly become the closest thing to a father that Dawn possessed and the Watcher's guiding presence in her life was something she had now grown comfortable with.

Tenderly, Dawn reached out her hand and brushed her fingertips across the beautiful image of Joyce Summers' face, which was partially obscured by a cascade of honey blonde waves. Closing her eyes momentarily, Dawn attempted to conjure up the feel of her mother's gossamer curls brushing against her cheek as she stooped to kiss her goodnight. As memory failed her, Dawn released a sigh of frustration that went unnoticed by all. Dawn realised that she was thankful after all for the salvation of at least some of the things she had thought lost to her.

She flashed the photograph a watery smile, suddenly overcome by her very presence in the place she had long ago said her goodbyes to. Buffy chose that moment to shatter Dawn's quiet reflection by stomping into the sitting room with a rather flustered Giles in tow. Buffy stabbed her index finger in the direction of a very surprised Willow and continued on towards the kitchen without awarding Dawn so much as a glance.

"Willow, kitchen, now," Buffy barked, not even bothering to pause in order to survey the state of the inside of her home. Clearly the walls and ceiling were still in tact and this was all Buffy cared about for the moment. Dawn's brow furrowed as she watched her sister and her red-headed friend disappear into the kitchen, the door slamming closed behind them.

"What's the matter with Buffy?" Angel inquired, one thick dark eyebrow raised as he glanced in Giles' direction. Giles blanched and opened his mouth as though to speak. Quickly he closed it again and chose to instead purse his lips. For whatever reason, he had decided that silence was clearly the more favourable option.

"Ok," Angel said slowly, his bemusement shining through in his expression. "Is it anything we should be worried about?"

Giles merely shrugged as he replied, "Angel, when is it not something we should be worried about? Now if I have no further use here I think I shall go home. I seem to recall that I had a bottle of Charbay concealed in my liquor cabinet before the town imploded and I am rather eager to see if that too survived. Have a pleasant evening all."

Dawn sidled over towards the closed kitchen door and leaned casually against the frame. Xander and Angel appeared engrossed in reluctant conversation and hence for the moment had not noticed her move. Dawn was curious as to what had provoked that kind of reaction within her sister, who despite the rising of the Hellmouth had been on cloud nine ever since the moment she had returned with a human Angel. In fact, for the last month Buffy had been almost bearable to live with.

Dawn slid as close to the kitchen door as she dared and all but held her breath as she strained to hear the snippets of the decidedly irate conversation that was taking place within.

**x-x-x**

"How can you be pregnant?" Willow gasped, struggling to keep her voice to a minimum. She suspected strongly that someone, presumably Dawn, was listening on the other side of the door and the last thing they needed was for her to overhear Buffy's panicked ranting.

"Well I didn't think I'd have to explain that one to you, Willow," Buffy all but snarled as she rounded on her best friend, who blinked in surprise. Buffy sighed and shook her head, mentally counting to ten in an effort to reign in her temper.

"I'm sorry, Will," she breathed, "you don't deserve this. I'm just…"

"Scared?" Willow offered, her smile understanding and patient. Buffy nodded and it wasn't long before the tears had started to silently descend her cheeks.

"Was Giles sure?" Willow inquired, moving to wrap her arms around Buffy who was frantically scrubbing tear tracks from her face using her sleeve.

"Apparently there's a prophecy," Buffy mumbled, her voice breaking on the last syllable, "as there seems to be for every catastrophe that befalls my pathetic life."

"Buffy," Willow scolded gently, gathering her friend into her arms and laying her chin on the crown of Buffy's head as she rested her face against Willow's shoulder. "A baby isn't a catastrophe. It's amazing. Why would you even think something like that?"

"Oh I don't know," Buffy sighed, "could have been the whole 'end of days' section my walking pregnancy test kindly mentioned."

Willow's mouth dropped open slightly but she recovered her composure as quickly as it had fallen for the sake of her friend.

"Have you done a… well, a…" Willow stammered, seeming to struggle with the concept. Her cheeks reddened and she cleared her throat as she forced the conclusion of her sentence out. "A pregnancy… thing."

Buffy shook her head and pulled away from Willow's embrace, beginning to rectify the damage to her eyeliner that her tears had caused.

"No, I haven't had any symptoms or anything. I had no idea that vampires could even have children," Buffy replied, raking her hands through her hair and destroying the last semblances of order to her ponytail.

"Generally speaking, they don't," Willow said, shrugging helplessly as her mind failed to provide even a tenuous explanation for Buffy's predicament. "But from what you've said, this baby was conceived in Hell before Angel became human. Buff, you need to talk to Angel about this. Whatever happens, we'll all work this out together. I promise."

Buffy nodded, her expression glum and her bottom lip trembling helplessly as tears threatened to overwhelm her once more.

"This is such a mess. How can I be pregnant?"

**x-x-x**

From the other side of the kitchen doorway, Dawn's eyes grew impossible wide and her heart more than doubled its usual speed as her mind raced alongside it in an effort to take in the information she had just overheard.

Struggling to cage her own tears, Dawn abruptly fled from the sitting room, no longer caring that they had yet to investigate the upper half of the house for hidden nasties or imperfections. She ascended the stairs two at a time, her heels clacking against the polished wood noisily and no doubt alerting the others to her departure.

When she reached the familiarity of her bedroom, Dawn flung herself down on the bed and allowed sorrow to possess her. She buried her face in her pillow and found comfort in the familiar scent emanating from it, yet her sobs came thick and fast. Dawn struggled to breath between them. Sunnydale may have been restored to its former glory, but her world was well and truly crumbling around her.


	31. Chapter 31

_**Revelations - XXXI**_

'_It was in my mouth sweet as honey: and as soon as I had eaten it,_

_My belly was bitter' - Revelation, 10.10_

In the month since Angel's humanity had been restored to him, Buffy had never seen him so unbelievably still. The words had tumbled from her lips more easily than she had anticipated but Angel's reaction to the news was something else entirely. He sat unmoving and mute on the edge of Buffy's bed, leaning forwards and gripping the mattress with both hands. His body seemed rather precariously balanced and the impossibility of the pose was to Buffy vaguely reminiscent of his vampire days. Angel had not so much as blinked in the entire seven minutes and thirty six seconds since Buffy had revealed the news of her impossible pregnancy to him.

Buffy herself had been afraid to speak, allowing Angel to fall into his catatonia willingly. She found herself suddenly glad for the sanctuary of her bedroom; being surrounded by such familiarity was comforting now where Angel's presence failed to be. As she leaned back against the wall next to the window and folded her arms across her chest, she wondered how much longer she should wait before forcing Angel to address the issue. Deciding that her patience had now all but frayed, she cleared her throat pointedly. Angel barely flinched in response.

"Angel?" she pressed, the sound of her voice appearing to haul Angel from his reverie as he blinked rapidly and suddenly straightened.

"I… Buffy, I'm so sorry," Angel breathed, clambering unsteadily to his feet and crossing the floor in three strides to wrap his lover in his arms. Buffy let out all her breath in one and sagged against Angel's chest, struggling to bury the wealth of emotions that battled against her newly regained composure.

"Is Giles sure?" Angel inquired, mumbling his question into the crown of Buffy's head in between littering her hair with tiny kisses.

"I don't know, but this prophecy… Angel, how is this going to be ok?" she whispered.

An uncomfortable silence descended between the couple. The hum of the television could be heard faintly from the sitting room below, interrupted occasionally by raucous bouts of Xander's laughter. Buffy smiled despite the gravity of her situation, relieved to hear her friend's mirth. For the time they had resided in Rome, Xander had appeared to be lost in a deep mourning for his beloved Anya and everything he had once possessed to remind him of her. Xander had spent the majority of his time setting about organising the restoration of the castle they had acquired from the Immortal. His appetite and goofy sense of humour had both waned considerably, leaving his old friends concerned and dealing with a shadow of their former Xander.

Buffy knew all too well that part of Xander's reason for wishing to return to Sunnydale was that he hoped he would be able to salvage even a few reminders of his past with Anya. Ironically enough, Buffy believed that Sunnydale may even prove good for Xander for once in his life. Just being able to walk the same streets that Anya once had would be an immense comfort to him. Buffy herself could not deny that Sunnydale held a cache of memories for them all. She thought fleetingly of her mother's grave, and resolved to visit as soon as she found an opportunity.

"Prophecies can be avoided my love."

Buffy jumped a little as Angel's voice shattered her thoughts. He held her tighter, mistaking her surprise perhaps for fear.

"I guess," Buffy responded quietly, turning Angel's answer over in her mind, "I mean, technically I should be dead according to prophecy. Like three times. So not just a little dead either."

Angel smiled thinly and sat down once again at the foot of the bed, gently drawing Buffy alongside him.

"Whether or not this child was conceived before I was turned, it was still conceived in love. There is nothing evil or apocalyptic in that," Angel said, his voice growing stronger in assurance. Buffy felt herself relax a little, allowing her lover's words of comfort to wash over her and work out the tension from her body.

"I guess," she repeated, still not entirely assuaged. "I just…"

"What?" Angel pressed gently, turning Buffy to face him and cupping her chin in his palms. His eyes locked probingly with her own and to Angel's surprise he saw something there buried deep within that gave him moment to pause. Growing suddenly uncomfortable, Buffy turned her face away and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I'm just not sure I'm ready yet is all," Buffy explained, adding meekly, "to be a Mom, I mean."

Angel nodded in understanding but remained silent, sensing that Buffy had more that she wished to convey.

"I never really thought about kids until now. I didn't think those kind of things were even possible for a Slayer. Giles says there's no record of an active Slayer becoming a Mom and since I don't have any secret illegitimate offspring squirreled away anywhere I thought it was moot."

Angel flinched at Buffy's words, feeling the unpleasant sting of his own secret pricking at his conscience. Buffy appeared for now at least not to have noted his discomfort, too absorbed in her own panic.

"The timing isn't perfect what with Sunnydale reappearing," Angel agreed, "but if you want to, we will all make this work out for the better, Buffy."

Silence reigned once again as Angel waited for his future wife to make her decision. He resolved that whatever that may be, his feelings for her would remain unchanged. He only hoped that he would be able to convince her of that fact.

"I guess…" Buffy began slowly, pausing as though tasting the words on her tongue before she continued, "that now is as good a time as any to be ready."

With a smile, Angel pulled Buffy into his chest and encircled his arms around her lithe frame. Both the Slayer and her lover remained frozen in the embrace for some time, allowing twilight to descend gently around them before they began to contemplate moving. Both were attempting to come to terms with impending parenthood, silently terrified and yet surreptitiously pleased; both, wondering how long their own dark secrets would now be allowed to remain such.

**x-x-x**

Dawn's breathing had evened out only minutes before but Spike knew that she had cried herself into an exhausted slumber. His chest served as her pillow, his shirt now wet through with her tears, and his arm draped gently around her body. She was curled into an almost foetal position, her knees pulled into her stomach and her head tucked low. Despite his pleas for an explanation, Spike had not the faintest idea as to what had caused this sudden onset of despair. Dawn had refused to talk, only cried so hard that for the one who adored her above all others it would have been impossible not to offer comfort.

Tomorrow, Spike's explanations would be sought. He was stonily determined to seek out the individual that had hurt Dawn to such an extent and rip out their spine through their nose, but for now he allowed her the serenity of sleep. Laying a loving kiss on Dawn's forehead, Spike settled himself back against the headboard and resolved to remain until the daylight chased his presence away.

**x-x-x **

Jess cursed. A string of gasped profanities impossible for human ears to detect. She cursed her father for working late again and being unable to pick her up from The Bronze's grand reopening night. She cursed her mother's decision to move their family back to Sunnydale when they had all been happy living with Grams in Michigan. She cursed her unbelievably appalling luck, her short legs that were useless when running for one's life, and above all she cursed the thing that gave chase to her. She paused only to whimper as despite her efforts to flee, the terrifying growls seemed to draw nearer.

Jess knew beyond all doubt that she had reached the final seconds of her life and so she seized the silver crucifix that had hung around her neck since her eighteenth birthday when Grams had bequeathed it to her. She dug deep within herself, struggling to find the serenity and comfort that her faith had promised to provide her with when her life drew to a close. Her hands shook too uncontrollably and through the haze of her tears, Jess stumbled.

This was it. Closing her eyes, she tried not to listen to the sounds of wicked talons clacking against the tarmac, and began to pray. In her final moments, Jess repented all her sins, granted forgiveness to her parents for failing her, and asked the Lord to guide her to the right path when the time came. A second later, Jess screamed.


	32. Chapter 32

_**Dirty Little Secrets - XXXII**_

'_**If I had the chance now**_

_**You know I would not hesitate**_

_**To tell you all the things I never said before**_

_**Don't tell me it's too late…'**_

_- Dirty Little Secret By Sarah McLachlan_

_**One week later…**_

Time had never passed at such an impossibly slow rate. When Buffy considered it logically, three minutes was barely a drop in the ocean, and yet as she waited for Angel's stopwatch to oblige her she felt as though years stretched ahead.

The empty test box lay on the top of the bathroom counter, now used content resting facedown a few inches to the left, taunting Buffy mercilessly with its mere presence. Buffy looked anywhere but at the object of her curiosity. She forced her gaze to wander, deliberately picking out flaws in the paintwork of the bathroom just to occupy her mind.

Unconsciously, her fingers formed a tangled knot close by her heart and Buffy began to bounce on the balls of her feet as anticipation got the better of her. Finally, the stopwatch began to bleep and Buffy approached the counter with trepidation. Her hand reached out towards the little white stick that had the power to change her world in the most amazing and yet frightening capacity. Buffy hesitated, a moment of weakness on the part of her subconscious, who sought to convince her that another week of ignorance would not really be that bad. Buffy shrugged off the unbidden thoughts and reached for the test stick with renewed determination. She affixed a smile upon her face and flipped the stick over in one fluid movement.

Buffy's smile faded, her lips tugged downward at the corners as a sense of disappointment flooded her being for the fourth morning that week. Negative. The test was negative. Like the last four tests before it that Buffy had struggled to convince herself were somehow defective or simply used incorrectly. Grunting in frustration, Buffy flung the stick into the waste paper basket and set about washing her hands with more vigour than was quite necessary. She was probably just testing too early, she reminded herself, but the string of negative tests coupled with her surprising lack of symptoms had begun to make Buffy wonder about the accuracy of Giles' prophecy.

A soft knock resounded on the bathroom door and Buffy knew with a sinking heart that Angel was awaiting an answer. Since the couple had fully digested the news of Buffy's pregnancy, their excitement for the new life they had created against the most impossible odds had grown daily. Buffy found herself surprisingly more and more eager to taste motherhood.

"Buffy?" Angel called, his tone questioning. Buffy sighed, splashed a little water on her cheeks, and moved to unlock the door. She gazed up into Angel's expectant face and sadly shook her head. Her heart dipped as Angel visibly sagged a little. His smile never once wavered but it was evident to Buffy that it was more for her benefit than to truly express any feelings of his own.

"We're probably just testing too early," Angel soothed, gathering Buffy into his arms and embracing her. She sighed once again and rested her cheek against Angel's bare skin, closing her eyes as she listened to his heart flutter. It was a sound she felt sure she would never tire of, yet it had undeniably come at a price. Buffy pushed the thought aside, deciding for the moment to concentrate on one disaster at a time.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Buffy relented with a small smile, provided mainly to convince Angel that she was indeed fine. In reality, Buffy was anything but. She could not understand why Giles had presented news of the prophecy to her with such conviction if it may indeed fail to come to pass.

"We can try again in a few days," Angel suggested, "and then I'm sure the result will be positive."

Buffy nodded, chuckling as she responded wryly, "For someone who wasn't sure a few days ago if she was ready to be a Mommy or not, I'm doing a great job of not being disappointed."

Angel ran his fingers through to the ends of Buffy's hair and grinned.

"In a few days you'll be wondering what you were ever worrying about, I promise," he whispered, his lips brushing Buffy's earlobe causing her to shudder involuntarily at the sensation.

Buffy smiled, this time a genuine gesture that illuminated her features, and snaked her arms around Angel's neck. She giggled as he suddenly seized her around the waist and with a growl began to stride purposefully towards their bed, lifting her feet clear off the ground. The hungry gleam in his eyes made his intent more than evident. Buffy sank back against the pillows with a sigh of contentment as she allowed the feel of her lover's body against her own to soothe away her fears.

**x-x-x**

Dawn knew that she really aught not to be cutting during her first full week back at Sunnydale High, but suddenly so many once important things seemed to lack purpose. She abandoned her books in her locker and, as the bell signalling the end of the lunch period resounded through the corridors, Dawn fled towards the school gates. She made her escape unnoticed and headed straight to the centre of town.

She had briefly toyed with the idea of dropping by at Spike's crypt but had decided against that course of action in favour of catching an afternoon movie. She wasn't entirely certain that she trusted Spike not to lecture her about ditching, given his relatively new capacity as her love interest. Despite her bleak mood, Dawn giggled at the thought. She had managed thus far to keep her relationship with Spike secret from the rest of the gang. She had been extremely surprised that Giles had not ratted them out immediately upon Buffy's return but she was more than grateful for his silence. She assumed that Giles simply refused to be the bearer of such news, perhaps even fearful that Buffy may rather characteristically opt to shoot the proverbial messenger. Dawn was not in anyway naïve enough to believe that she would be able to hide it from Buffy indefinitely. However, she was still deliberating upon the more intricate details of informing her sister that she had in fact been sleeping with her un-dead ex boyfriend. It certainly sounded in Dawn's own mind like Jerry Springer material; a thought that caused her to shudder violently since she considered herself allergic to trailer trash.

Dawn fully anticipated that Buffy would be angry, scornful and disgusted with her choice, but she was well equipped to deal with all of the above. It was more the cavernous expanse that she felt sure the relationship would create between the once inseparable sisters that Dawn feared. She knew beyond all doubt that the apparently impending baby would do little to bond she and Buffy together either. Dawn shook her head as though the action may disperse her gloomy thoughts and turned onto the next block where Sunnydale cinema loomed.

Pulling the elastic band from her ponytail and shaking her hair free from its constraints in order to make herself appear older, Dawn queued at the entrance of the movie theatre. She fluttered her eyelashes shamefully at the boy working the ticket desk as she handed him her money, and was pleased when she received the ticket to the R rated movie she desired in return. Smirking, Dawn breezed past the food kiosk towards the theatre doorway, slyly slipping a handful of candy bars into the pocket of her jeans as she passed by. She realised all too well that soon she would be forced to face the music with Buffy, but for the moment at least she intended to have a good time.

**x-x-x **

Buffy was kneeling in front of the coffee table pouring over the 'help wanted' section of the local newspaper when Willow pushed open the front door. Buffy had decided against resuming her old job as guidance counsellor at Sunnydale High given the amount of time she anticipated having to pour into controlling the various nasties that flocked to the Hellmouth. Buffy wanted a job with flexible hours to allow for slaying and also impending motherhood, as well as something that required very little brain power to actually carry out. Much to Buffy's disgust, The Doublemeat Palace was looking to be an increasingly likely candidate. Buffy folded the newspaper in half and flung it across the table, glancing up as Willow bounced into the sitting room. In her hands, she carried a selection of shopping bags from which Buffy could see a variety of items peeking over the top.

"Have fun?" Buffy inquired, sitting cross legged on the carpet and awarding Willow her full attention. Willow nodded emphatically, her eyes sparkling as she set the bags down on the couch and prepared to exhibit the spoils to Buffy.

"I managed to sign up for Psychology again," Willow explained, a smile spreading across her face as she continued, "classes start in two weeks once they have all the staff back and so I thought now was the perfect time to shop for my new college wardrobe. Everything is super cheap at the moment. There's like a fifty percent sale in every store."

"One of the perks of a regurgitated Hellmouth, I guess," Buffy replied with a shrug, "store owners have to entice customers back somehow."

Willow nodded again and began foraging through the bags. Buffy giggled, finding her friend's enthusiasm hopelessly infectious. Willow emerged seconds later with a silky olive green scarf that she promptly snaked around her neck with the broadest of grins. Buffy smiled and nodded her approval, noting how the particular shade of green complimented Willow's copper coloured mane.

"Three dollars," Willow exclaimed proudly as she disappeared up to her elbows into the next bag. "Jeans at twenty dollars, three sweaters, the most amazing trashy red heels… trashy in the good way and not the skanky…"

Willow abruptly trailed off as she glanced towards her friend, who appeared to be lost within her own thoughts and was clearly not paying any attention to Willow's victories.

"Buffy?" Willow prompted, one eyebrow arched in questioning. Buffy started a little at the sound of her name before turning to affix Willow with an unconvincing smile.

"Sorry Will, I was just…" Buffy grinned sheepishly and waved her hand at Willow to signal that she should continue. Willow sank onto the couch and regarded Buffy.

"Another negative?" she guessed, her expression soft and sympathetic. Buffy nodded in response, not trusting herself to control the tears she felt welling in her eyes should she choose to speak.

"Oh," Willow said simply, her own expression crestfallen. Her brow furrowed momentarily and then she suddenly brightened. "Maybe you're just testing too early."

"That's what Angel said," Buffy replied, clearly unconvinced. Willow sighed, hating that she was for the moment powerless to set her friend's mind at ease. She paused in contemplation for a few seconds and then turned to a powder blue bag that rested on the floor by her calf.

"I got you something," she said, the dimples in her cheeks emerging as her smile widened. Buffy groaned loudly and shook her head.

"Please, I can't pee on another stick for at least three days without losing my mind," Buffy said, raking her hands through her hair in frustration. Willow vehemently shook her head and instead held out a small package wrapped in white tissue paper to her friend. Reluctantly, Buffy accepted the gift and carefully began removing the layer of paper. Inside the parcel was an impossibly tiny pair of lemon yellow booties. Buffy's bottom lip trembled and she felt herself rapidly losing the battle against her tears.

"I figured yellow for a girl or a boy…" Willow explained, her excitement fading suddenly as Buffy covered her face with both hands, allowing the boots to fall into her lap untouched.

"What if Giles was wrong, Will?" Buffy sobbed, burying her face in her friend's shoulder and taking pains not to allow her tears to soak through the prized scarf. "At first I thought… well, I wasn't sure what I wanted… but now Angel and I… we need this, Willow…"

Willow clucked in sympathy and nodded her understanding, rubbing gentle circles on Buffy's back as she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. Willow opened her mouth to speak, searching for the correct words of comfort, when the front door opened again.

Dawn breezed into the lounge with her school bag slung over her shoulder, and moved towards the kitchen without bothering to acknowledge Buffy or Willow.

"Hey Buffy, how are you? Had a nice day? How's the job hunt?" Buffy said sardonically, folding her arms across her chest as Dawn rolled her eyes.

"Hi," she said simply, her gaze ticking to the booties in Buffy's lap that she had neglected to hide. Dawn chewed on her bottom lip, her expression neutral, and Buffy hurriedly scooped up the package.

"These are…" Buffy stammered, faltering for an explanation in her panic. She would not be ready to share this news with anyone other than Willow and Angel until she had received at least one positive test result.

"Mine…" Willow interjected, slipping the tissue paper and its contents from Buffy's grasp and depositing it in her bag. "Well, I mean… not mine but… you know… they are mine just not…"

Dawn paled and she inhaled deeply, her eyes never once wandering from Buffy's face. She noted the tear tracks staining her sister's cheeks and almost collapsed with the weight of her guilt. Buffy appeared to be watching her a little too intently and Dawn squirmed in a display of her discomfort.

"I thought we'd order pizza for dinner," Buffy said, glancing at Willow and Dawn in turn in search of their approval. She clambered to her feet and began hurriedly gathering the various magazines that she had scattered across the room through the course of the day.

"Buffy…" Dawn said quietly, her eyes trained on a loose thread in the carpet.

"You can pick the toppings, Dawnie," Buffy continued, breezing through the lounge and pausing unnecessarily to adjust a picture frame, "but if you want anchovies then you'll have to…"

"Buffy…" Dawn repeated, this time her voice tinged with undertones of annoyance.

Buffy continued on oblivious, but Willow now stared agape at Dawn. The bag she had been holding slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor but Buffy appeared not to notice. Dawn shot Willow a look that demanded her momentary silence.

"… make sure that it's ok with the rest of the guys because I think…"

"Buffy!" Dawn yelled, her hands clenching into fists by her sides. Buffy turned slowly to regard her sister and discovered with surprise that Dawn's expression of guilt matched her own perfectly.

"It's not you," Dawn whispered, her voice cracking under the strain of the words. Buffy blinked in uncertainty.

"What?" she asked, shaking her head a little in confusion.

"The prophecy…" Dawn choked out, tears beginning to descend her cheeks at an alarming rate. "It's not for you. Giles' prophecy wasn't meant for you and Angel."

"What?" Buffy repeated, anger flashing across her features as she realised that Dawn had once again overheard a conversation that was not intended for her ears. "What did you say?"

Dawn stared sadly at her sister; sorrow, regret and the faintest glimmer of sympathy mingled in her eyes. Buffy inhaled sharply.

"Buffy… it's me… I'm pregnant."


	33. Chapter 33

**The paragraphs in this chapter that are written in bold are intended to be 'flashbacks'. **

_**The Bonds You Break - XXXIII**_

'_Between sisters, often, the child's cry never dies down. _

"_Never leave me," it says; "do not abandon me." - Louise Bernikow_

There was only one thing prevalent in her mind and so Buffy pushed onward, fuelled by her desire for revenge alone. The blow had been a devastating one and the resulting misery that it had dealt Buffy had momentarily threatened to overwhelm her.

"**Please, Buffy… say something…" Dawn pleaded, struggling to stem the flow of her tears. She sniffled pathetically and Willow immediately abandoned the couch in order to move to the girl's side. She rather hesitantly wrapped an arm around Dawn's waist, unsure as to which party required most comfort. Buffy appeared to be lost in her own thoughts, her expression oddly vacant whilst one hand maintained a permanent residence over her stomach. It seemed as though she were struggling with the very comprehension of what had been stolen from her. **

"**Buffy?" Willow attempted, her voice barely above a whisper. **

Despite the wealth of emotions that warred within her, it had not taken long for Buffy's sheer fury to emerge victorious. She could scarce believe the treachery spewed from the mouth of her own sister; the one being in the world for whom she had willingly laid down her own life.

"**How could you?" Buffy hissed, her hand dropping abruptly to her side and her fingers curling into a fist. Willow tensed visibly, preparing to intervene with magic if necessary should the Slayer suddenly lunge. For the time being, Buffy had to be considered a potential threat at least until her rage had subsided. **

"**I'm so…" Dawn began, trailing off into a series of broken sobs as Buffy snarled in warning. Her eyes narrowed to feral slits and her hands formed claws at her sides. **

"**Don't you dare tell me you are sorry or I will not be responsible for my own actions," she spat, devoid now of almost all traces of her humanity.**

Buffy's feet pounded the sidewalk but she barely registered the sound of her heavy footfalls at all. She passed a group of teenagers at the corner of the street who were laughing noisily and sipping from rather suspicious looking cans. A portable stereo blasting a thumping bass rhythm rested on the wooden bench and a collection of empty cans littered the ground at their feet. They turned to eye Buffy with obvious wariness as she moved toward them, then silently but hurriedly they cleared a path through their midst. The expression of the approaching blonde was murderous and, despite her size and deceptive beauty, there was not a one among them that felt brave enough to test her sanity that evening.

"**You knew," Buffy accused, jabbing her finger in Dawn's direction and taking a step forward. Dawn straightened up a little, bracing herself for the impact of what she knew was to come. She flashed Willow a grateful look before gently shrugging off her arm. This was a battle she knew she must face alone. Willow hovered by the coffee table, her fingers flexing in readiness and her eyes darting from the face of one sister to the other; all she saw there was an all consuming sorrow. **

"**You knew that I thought I was pregnant and you didn't tell me," Buffy said, her eyes flashing dangerously. She twisted her neck from side to side and Willow recognised that she was pouring every effort into practicing self restraint. **

"**I tried to," Dawn promised, her voice growing a little stronger with conviction, "you don't know how many times I wanted to tell you. I just couldn't find the words."**

Buffy moved passed the gang of teens without incident and continued on. Her strides were long and even, and Buffy anticipated that she would reach her destination in record time. Every last ounce of her energy was now focused on one thing. She intended to make someone pay for this horrible turn of events, and she knew exactly who that someone would be. Buffy cracked her knuckles in preparation and ran her tongue along her dry lips.

"**Bullshit!" Buffy roared causing Willow to jump. Dawn simply closed her eyes and turned her head a little as though physically shying away from her sister's wrath. She knew that she deserved every last shred of Buffy's anger but the ferocity of it shocked her. **

"**I don't know how to make this right," Dawn said quietly, her gaze dropping to her feet. She clasped her hands in front of her body and chewed on her bottom lip as she had done in times of stress ever since Buffy could remember. The Slayer suddenly faltered, struck by an image of the lonely and terrified little girl that stood before her. Despite her own pain, Buffy felt a surge of anger towards the one who had stolen her baby sister's innocence and heaped such responsibility on her shoulders in one fell swoop. **

Buffy had known beyond all doubt how she could make it right; she intended to remove the complication. She would do what she knew her mother would have wanted had she been alive. She would make _him _pay for cheating her and Angel out of a child, and ruining her sister's life in the bargain.

"**Please don't hate me, Buffy," Dawn pleaded, her eyes shining with fresh tears which she managed to check for the moment. Buffy opened her mouth but a response failed her.**

"**Dawnie," Willow said gently, beckoning the girl towards the couch now that it appeared Buffy had regained some degree of composure. "We need to talk about this, sweetie. Decide what's best for everyone involved. Let's try work through the… er… options."**

**Dawn nodded wordlessly but something crossed her expression for the briefest of moments that alerted Willow to the fact her decision had already been made. Buffy also remained silent, her features clouded by deep contemplation. **

"**I think that we should all…" Willow began, stroking the crown of Dawn's head soothingly as the girl lowered herself onto the couch and sagged.**

**Buffy's growl emerged so suddenly that neither Willow nor Dawn had adequate time to react. **

"**Where is he?" **

Buffy reached the centre of Sunnydale barely five minutes after leaving her home. She assumed that she must have run a degree of the journey but her mind was in such turmoil that she could not even be certain of this.

Darkness had fallen, but the town was bustling as always with throngs of people lining the sidewalks as they waited to gain entry to the cinema or one of many charming bistros that Sunnydale offered. Buffy scanned the crowds relentlessly, her eyes narrowed in order to sharpen her focus. She watched as a young couple walked towards her, each with one hand resting on the handle of a pram. They wore such blissfully content expressions that Buffy once more felt the sharp stab of loss in her stomach. Her resolve only strengthened. Then, just when she had been poised to move onto the next street in her search, Buffy saw _him_. A flash of platinum in her peripheral vision alerted her to his location and Buffy took off in a sprint before she could even be sure that it was indeed him. Buffy shoved through the crowds, unconcerned by the cries of alarm and annoyance that her flying elbows yielded.

He had his black leather-clad back to the road as he leaned over a collection of buckets dotted along the sidewalk outside the florist. He lifted a bouquet of orange flowers that Buffy was unable to identify and appeared to deliberate over them for several seconds before sticking one hand in the pocket of his duster to locate his wallet. It was this exact pose he was locked in when the first blow was landed.

Buffy's fist connected with Spike's left temple and immediately his features contorted to that of the demon. The bouquet fell from his hand and Spike whipped around to face his assailant. His expression was thunderous and he snarled as he prepared to lunge in the direction of the attacker. Spike simply blinked in surprise as he found himself almost nose to nose with a very enraged Slayer.

"Buffy?" he queried, cocking his head to one side as he regarded her. As Buffy delivered the second blow to Spike's face, breaking his nose in the process, the reason behind the assault suddenly dawned on him; Buffy knew.

"Buffy, now just calm down a minute…" Spike began, holding both hands out in front of him in surrender. Buffy was slumped over slightly, breathing erratically, her wild blonde mane partially obscuring her face. She glared at Spike and without allowing him to continue, spun towards him with a roundhouse kick that sent him sprawling backwards into the shop awning. Spike grunted as his body connected with a metal pole that buckled under the impact. He rolled as he dropped to the sidewalk, dodging the foot that Buffy aimed at his throat with only millimetres to spare.

"Bloody hell!" Spike choked out, spitting blood onto the tarmac and staring askance at the Slayer. "Don't you think you're being just a little bit unreasonable?"

"Unreasonable?" Buffy growled in a voice that was not her own. She spat each separate syllable of the word with great distaste, as though its meaning was one that escaped her.

"I know how you must feel, Buffy," Spike said quietly, shaking his head and allowing the features of the vampire to melt away. Buffy paused, her hands raised in a defensive stance that did not fail to draw the attentions of the crowd milling around them. Spike wiped at the trickle of blood seeping from his lip with the back of his hand and gazed at Buffy warily as he continued.

"I promise you, I love Dawn and I would never do anything to hurt her. No harm will come to her for as long as I still walk this earth. I didn't plan this… hell, I didn't even want… well, I just mean that I've never felt this way about anyone else before… not even when I was alive."

Buffy appeared to consider the speech for a pause, which Spike used to begin righting the buckets that had been overturned during their tussle. He straightened up and regarded the Slayer, who stood before him with a strange smile contorting her lips. Spike's mouth dropped open in realisation as Buffy suddenly lunged forward and head butted him.

Spike stumbled backwards again, struggling for his feet to find purchase on the pavement as Buffy came at him with everything she had. A series of powerful blows landed on every inch of his exposed body and Spike simply continued to fall back, unable to defend himself against the onslaught. He had never seen the Slayer so riled and, as he strained unsuccessfully to escape the beating he was being dealt, fear invaded Spike's mind. Buffy suddenly seized the lapels of his jacket and raised Spike several feet into the air, grunting mildly with the effort. It was almost to Buffy as though she were watching herself in a dream, carrying out actions that she was powerless to alter. She was faintly aware of Spike gasping and the screams of women in the crowd surrounding them, but she could make sense of little else in her mind. Buffy drew Spike towards her and then abruptly flung her arms out straight, releasing the vampire from her grip at the same time. Spike's body flew backwards at impossible speed and, as he connected with the outer wall of a bar he flew through the brick sending clouds of dust and rubble into the atmosphere.

Inside the bar patrons froze, some with drinks raised half way to their lips and others with pool cues poised mid-shot. The lone bar tender stared at the broken man lying bleeding on the linoleum and the towel he had been using to wipe down the counter fell from his hands. In that moment, the survival instincts of every person in the bar seemed to kick into action within a fraction of a second. There was a stampede of bodies racing for the door as Buffy stepped through the enormous hole she had created in the wall. Spike groaned and pushed himself painfully backwards across the tiles, leaving a trail of crimson staining the floor in his wake. Buffy's satisfaction peeked and Spike gazed up into her eyes, shocked by the lack of mercy within. Buffy's lips set into a grim line and she reached into the waistband of her trousers, whipping a stake into view. Spike's heart sank and he relaxed his body against the ground, defeated and willing to embrace his demise.

"Why?" he choked out, his eyes tearing as Dawn's smiling face flashed through his mind. It all but broke his cold, dead heart that he would never now get the chance to tell her exactly how deeply his love for her ran.

Buffy sneered at the vampire and delivered a harsh kick to his gut before she responded. Her voice was cold and surprisingly dead itself.

"As if you don't know," she spat, bending down on one knee to draw herself closer to Spike. "You make me sick. You have ruined our lives… me, Angel, Dawn… that child…"

Spike blinked quickly, not fully comprehending Buffy's warped explanation of why she was preparing to end his un-life. Buffy paused, her hazel eyes suddenly growing wider and filling with shock.

"You don't know…" she murmured, for the briefest of moments seeming like the old Buffy had returned and taken control of her body. Her head whipped up and she glanced over her shoulder as the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance growing nearer.

"Know?" Spike demanded, pushing himself up on one elbow and wincing as his ribcage throbbed. He counted at least three cracked ribs and potentially a fracture to his collarbone, but for now he ignored his injuries as best he could.

"Dawn…" Buffy whispered, her eyes shining with unshed tears in the florescent lighting, "she's pregnant."

It took a moment for the words to register themselves correctly in Spike's brain but when they did, his blue eyes grew as wide as saucers and his breath escaped him in a hiss of disbelief. Then, slowly, his features softened and his lips formed the most beautiful smile that Buffy had ever seen; it was the smile of a man seeing the world for the first time in all its amazing clarity.

"I'm going to be a dad," Spike said softly, enjoying the sound of the words as they rolled so easily off his tongue. In less than a second, Buffy's features clouded over once more and she focused her gaze upon Spike's bruised but beaming face.

"No," she spat coldly, "you're not."

The stake whistled as it flew through the air, giving Spike little time to react beyond managing to squeeze his eyes closed and await the impact. Yet the agony of the tip of sharp wood piercing the chambers of his heart never arrived. Spike opened one eye in surprise as he heard Buffy cry out in a mixture of pain and anger. He was just in time to witness the stake she gripped combust into blue flames that devoured the wood hungrily. The stake dropped from the Slayer's reddened hand and formed a pile of ash at her feet.

Spike opened both eyes now and struggled to draw himself into a sitting position. Both he and Buffy turned their gazes simultaneously to the enormous hole in the bar wall where Dawn stood framed with Willow by her side. Dawn's arm was outstretched and one trembling finger still pointed at Buffy, making it clear as to whom had been responsible for the spell that had led to the incineration of beloved Mr. Pointy. The sisters regarded each other for a while, silent and unmoving despite the growing cacophony of emergency sirens around them. Something passed between them in that moment that Spike could not accurately put into words. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the moment ended. Buffy sank to her knees onto the cold, hard floor of the bar and at the same time Dawn turned on her heel.

With her head bowed, Dawn faded into the growing crowd without a single backward glance as Buffy dissolved into tearless sobs that echoed hauntingly through the night.


	34. Chapter 34

_**Goodbye Baby - XXXIV**_

'_**And I who went to sleep as two**_

_**Woke up as one now only you remain**_

_**You'll close your eyes and travel back**_

_**To the time when the light went fading fast**_

_**And the words you'll never, never forget, oh no**_

_**As you slipped away…'**_

_- Goodbye Baby by Fleetwood Mac_

There was a vacancy in her eyes that frightened Angel more than anything he had yet to face in this world. Nothing that either he nor Willow could do or say seemed to shake Buffy from her trance. Thus, she lay curled in a ball in the centre of her bed without even partaking in the release of tears. Angel perched on the mattress beside her, keeping a silent vigil over the statue that his lover had become. He too had remained fixed as time passed, simply stroking Buffy's hair and murmuring unintelligibly as he attempted to coax her back to reality.

Buffy had remained this way since Willow had escorted her back from town several hours earlier. Willow hoped that the memory spell she had cast would erase the clearer details of the scene from the onlookers' minds, and that the destruction to the bar would simply be put down to a drunken brawl that had gotten out of hand. She had faith enough in her own abilities to at least know that nobody within a mile radius of the attack would recall the petite blonde responsible for the devastation.

Willow hovered on the threshold of the doorway clearly tortured by her own uncertainty. She ached to provide some comfort to Buffy, who seemed to have fallen apart before their very eyes, and yet Willow's conscience was prickled by a guilt that prevented her. She wondered if she had done the right thing in helping Dawn, but the thought was dismissed as quickly as it had arrived. Both Willow and Dawn had been clear of Buffy's intentions towards Spike, and neither of them could allow her success for very different reasons indeed. Dawn was frantic at the thought of the vampire's destruction, Willow could only assume due to their relationship and mutual responsibility for the new life growing inside of her. Willow, however, knew the darkness that would surely follow the taking of a life and she refused to allow that darkness to consume her friend as it once had her. Whilst Spike was far from human, he was possessing of a soul, and his repentance of his past sins was as clear as Angel's had once been. Willow knew that despite Buffy's current fury, she would one day hate herself for ending Spike's existence.

"Buffy," Angel murmured, brushing the palm of his hand across the crown of Buffy's head. He sighed as she remained unmoving and unresponsive. His hand dropped to his side and his fingers flexed into fists. The gleam in his eye was murderous and as he pushed himself up from the mattress, apparently resolving at some action. Willow moved to bar the doorway to him.

"Let me pass," Angel growled, his features clouding with a display of anger that may have once caused Willow to falter. However, the woman who possessed powers that could rival any goddess could not be so easily intimidated.

"Not until you tell me where the hell you're going?" Willow demanded, tilting her chin defiantly upwards so that her eyes could successfully meet Angel's.

"To finish what she started," was the snarled response. Willow had been expecting nothing less.

The witch stood her ground and planted her hands firmly on her hips. Her expression was as reproachful as a mother scolding her child for some playground misdemeanour.

"And you think that will help Buffy?" Willow inquired, shaking her head in disbelief at Angel, "you think that will help Dawn?"

"I don't care," Angel snapped, attempting to sidestep Willow, who simply slammed the door closed with a mere flick of her wrist. Angel rounded on the witch as he heard the lock mechanism slide magically into place.

"This isn't your place to be interfering," Angel shouted, his frustration and pain showing clearly in his features for a moment. As quickly as it had slipped, the mask was back in place and Angel glowered down at Willow almost threateningly.

"The hell it isn't," Willow replied, struggling to keep her tone calm and measured for the benefit of Dawn, who slept in the next room, "what will killing Spike possibly achieve, Angel? All you will do is succeed in having Dawn hate you and make the next few months even harder for her than they are already going to be."

"It's Buffy I care about…" Angel challenged, gritting his teeth as he attempted to restrain his anger. The indifference towards Dawn that Angel claimed was obvious fabrication, but for the time being Willow did not bother to dispute it. The truth of the matter was that Angel was too much of a compassionate soul to feel nothing for the girl. Willow knew that he was speaking out of his concern for Buffy and the crippling fear evoked by his inability to rouse her.

"Killing Spike won't help Buffy," Willow answered, folding her arms and shaking her head, "Buffy was just lashing out. It's in her instincts."

"That may be," Angel said, his tone dropping to a dangerous purr, "but he is the one responsible for this mess, and I…"

"Intend to make him pay?" Willow scoffed, her temper beginning to fray as she paused to witness another friend falling victim to the desire for a vengeance that was not theirs to take.

"Yes."

Willow and Angel regarded each other for a moment of pregnant silence. They were almost nose to nose in their confrontation, both breathing heavily and eyeing the other with suspicion.

"Move aside," Angel demanded. Willow did not so much as twitch but the whites of her eyes suddenly became inky, alerting Angel to the fact that she would not stand down without a fight.

"No."

"I will ask you one more time," Angel said quietly, his teeth and jaw clenched. "Move."

Before Willow could respond, they became aware of the sound of stirring from the bed. Both Angel and Willow turned rapidly, forgetting for the moment their quarrel and focusing their attentions upon Buffy.

"Don't," Buffy pleaded, her gaze beseeching. She pulled herself up into a sitting position and hugged her knees into her chest. Buffy's head dropped forward and her hair fell in a thick curtain that obscured her face. Her shoulders began to tremble and in an instant Angel moved to wrap her in his arms.

"Buffy," he breathed, burying his face in her hair and inhaling the strong scent of vanilla that clung to her, "oh God, Buffy, I'm sorry."

Buffy shook her head and wordlessly she pulled herself free from Angel's embrace in order to regard him. She remained unspeaking for a while, smoothing her palm across the plain of Angel's cheek, and then finally she allowed a small smile to grace her lips. The gesture seemed strained yet oddly sincere and Angel found himself unable to do anything other than stare as he struggled to fathom Buffy's mood.

"Don't be," Buffy finally managed, her voice thick with sorrow but strong nonetheless. Angel gazed at his future wife for a few more seconds before his head fell forwards into his cupped hands and he began to sob. His body was wracked by the effort of his sorrow and Willow grew suddenly uncomfortable with bearing witness to such a private moment.

Willow hurriedly waved her hand in the direction of the door and stepped through it into the hallway as it swung open. Buffy smiled gratefully at the retreating figure of her friend before returning her attentions to her lover. She would make her apologies to Willow later, although she knew that forgiveness was already hers; such was the nature of their friendship.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Buffy whispered, peeling Angel's hands gently away from his face and sighing as she stared into his haunted eyes. "I should never have gone after Spike. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. It just felt like…"

Angel nodded his understanding, signalling that there was no further need for Buffy to continue her explanation. He felt the same. As though, to some degree, they had sustained a loss to their family that had left a gaping void existing within them both. From the moment he had learned of Buffy's 'pregnancy' Angel had been filled with not only the overwhelming joy that comes hand in hand with impending fatherhood, but with the relief of gaining a second chance. Now the opportunity to right his past wrongs had slipped through his fingers and Angel felt that devastation as acutely as the day Connor had been stolen from him. He also now knew with certainty that he could not keep the existence of his son from his future wife for much longer. The thought of regaling Buffy with such a tale brought an uncomfortable lump to Angel's throat that could not be dislodged by merely swallowing.

"What do we do now?" Buffy asked quietly, her gaze falling to the patchwork quilt that lined the bed. She examined every intricate stitch in great detail, not wanting to meet Angel's eyes again and see her pain reflected in them.

"Well," Angel began slowly, encasing Buffy's hand with his own, "I guess we do our best to be there for Dawn. It's not going to be easy for anyone…"

"But I owe it to Mom," Buffy finished, wiping away a renegade tear that trickled down her cheek. Angel nodded and pulled Buffy against his chest, where she settled with her eyes closed.

"We can always try…" Angel whispered, his lips brushing against Buffy's cheek in a tender kiss no sooner than the words escaped his lips. She remained silent, nodding her agreement since speaking proved too painful to bear for the moment.

"We'll be ok my love," Angel promised, beginning to rock Buffy in his arms. There was so much still left to say but the present time was not suitable for more revelations, and so

instead Angel simply repeated his affirmation. "We'll be ok."

**x-x-x**

The shouts and snarls had eventually hauled Dawn from the semi-conscious state that she had managed to succumb to. She lay in the dark for some time listening to the strained voices and angry words exchanged with a heavy sense of guilt weighing down upon her. She knew that she had made some poor choices and as a consequence those she loved most in the world were suffering. Dawn loathed herself for this and yet she had found her decision an easy one to make despite the further pain she knew it would inflict upon some. In an unconscious but protective gesture, Dawn folded her hands over her stomach as the sound of a door slamming resonated throughout the house.

Staring up at the ceiling, Dawn sighed heavily. She could not begin to contemplate how to fix the mess that she had created, but for the moment she was far too weary to even try. Instead, she clapped her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the sounds of the confrontation of which she was the cause.

It took Dawn some time to realise when finally the noise subsided. She closed her eyes gratefully as she felt at least some of the tension beginning to ebb from the house. Barely a second later, she registered the presence of a slight weight upon the edge of her mattress and knew without glancing what, or more to the point whom, she would find. For this very reason, Dawn avoided opening her eyes. Instead, she lay mutely in the darkness and attempted to feign slumber.

"I know you're awake, love," Spike said softly, his voice suddenly at Dawn's ear. Her eyes opened in a flash and she turned her face to the left where she found Spike crouched by the side of her bed. Spike reached out and gently stroked his fingertips across Dawn's forehead. She shot him a watery smile in response, not yet trusting herself to speak.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Spike demanded gently, fumbling against the sheets to find Dawn's hand, which she allowed him to clutch somewhat awkwardly to his chest. She sighed, realising that she would not escape without providing Spike with the answers he deserved.

"I was scared," she replied, her voice small and hollow, "I didn't know what to do. I thought about telling you as soon as I found out but… I was just scared you wouldn't… wouldn't…"

Spike raised both eyebrows, frowning suddenly as understanding flooded him.

"Wouldn't want you?"

Dawn nodded, knowing that the vampire would recognise the gesture even in the darkness. She chewed on her bottom lip in a desperate attempt to staunch a further flow of tears and reached across to turn on her bedside lamp.

Orange light invaded every last orifice of the room and finally threw illumination upon Spike's battered and bloodied face. Dawn's hand fluttered to her mouth in horror as her eyes swept the full extent of Spike's injuries. His nose was almost twice its usual size, and his right eye had been rendered purple and swollen shut. A collection of scrapes and cuts littered the rest of his face along with an angry bruise that adorned his collarbone. He appeared to be hunched over a little, one arm snaked across his own abdomen as though it were somehow causing him pain.

"I'm so sorry," Dawn wept, her hands fluttering helplessly in the air as she struggled to refrain from throwing her arms around Spike's neck. With a pained smile, the vampire leaned forwards and gathered Dawn into his arms. She rested her cheek against his chest and inhaled the musty scent that clung to his shirt.

"Don't be," Spike said firmly, "I'd gladly get my arse kicked by the Pink Ranger any day for a piece of news like that."

Dawn drew slowly away from Spike, her gaze sweeping his features in a discerning manner. She observed his wide spread smile and the strange light that seemed to dance behind his eyes. There was a joy unlike any other she had ever witnessed present in his face, and Dawn was overcome by a sudden sense of relief because of it.

"Hey love," Spike cooed as Dawn's chin dropped onto her chest and her hands moved to cover her face, "what's all this then?"

Dawn simply shook her head and inhaled deeply, allowing herself a moment to collect her composure before she spoke.

"How are we going to make this work, Spike?" she demanded, "I'm seventeen and still in high school, and you're a vampire. A baby needs love and stability… and two parents with a pulse."

"Hey, this kid will have all of that," Spike paused, wrinkling his nose as he continued, "well, maybe not that last one… but definitely the first two."

"Is it enough?" Dawn asked softly, her eyes wide and fearful.

"It's more than a lot of kids have," Spike replied, reaching across the space between them to rest his palm on the back of Dawn's neck. Spike leaned forwards and gently drew Dawn towards him so that their foreheads came to rest together.

"I love you, Dawn," he said softly and slowly, "more than I have ever loved anyone or anything. I promise I will be there every step of the way for you and the little nugget. Please, don't shut me out. I can do this… if you'll let me."

Dawn sniffled and wiped her eyes with the corner of her quilt before a wavering smile crossed her lips. She nodded once in silent agreement and then hurriedly buried her face in Spike's shoulder before her hormones could betray her again. The vampire's grin grew wide despite the pain the gesture brought to his bruised face. Switching off the bedside light once more he pushed the bed covers aside and climbed in beside Dawn, who immediately settled against her lover's cold body. Together they lay in the comfort of darkness, each lost in their own versions of the future whilst Spike combed his fingertips absently through to the ends of Dawn's hair.

"We'll be ok love," Spike murmured quietly, his eyes shining with the promise of what was to come as he repeated with greater conviction, "we'll be ok."


	35. Chapter 35

_**Therapy - XXXV**_

'_We may define therapy as a search for value' - Abraham Maslow_

From the very beginning it had seemed like a futile consideration, and yet still Dawn burned with a desire too strong to be merely ignored. After Spike had departed from Dawn's bedroom, inadvertently waking her in is haste to escape sunrise, she had spent the remainder of the wee hours of the morning in morbid contemplation. Mostly, Dawn thought of her mother; selfless and loving Joyce Summers, who had strived always to ensure that happiness and fulfilment were paramount in her daughters' lives.

Joyce had struggled alone through the jungle of parenthood for many years before her death, fulfilling both roles of father and mother to her children without complaint. Through the reoccurring times of supernatural peril plus the more mundane trials of growing up, Joyce had been the one constant in Dawn's life. Although Dawn accepted that this was indeed as it should be between mother and child, she was riddled with guilt by the thought that her own stupidity had potentially tarnished the memory of her mother.

Dawn knew that over the years there had been certain expectations placed upon her by her parents; honour roll, graduation, college. All of these were expectations that Dawn had once been only too happy to meet. But now, with the weight of impending motherhood bearing heavily down upon her, any such ideas had been blasted into the depths of oblivion. Dawn was both accepting of and comfortable with this fact, having come to terms with the consequence of her actions before she had chosen to make a single revelation. However, the one thought that Dawn could not bare was the possibility that she had disappointed her mother.

From the scant facts she had extracted from Willow whilst in Rome, Dawn knew enough about the afterlife to realise that Joyce now assumed a position of near omniscience in her children's lives. Whilst for a time this idea had brought Dawn great comfort, she could now not shake the feeling that she had in some way brought shame upon herself with her recent actions. With retrospect in irritating presence, Dawn was able to identify the immature and evidently reckless manner in which she had acted of late. Dawn could not however bring herself to regret her feelings for Spike, nor she resolved would she attempt to. So with this in mind, Dawn had become quickly determined to attain Joyce's understanding where she could not hope to receive her forgiveness.

Crouching low to the moist ground, Dawn allowed the tips of her fingers to sink into the soil in order to provide her body with the necessary equilibrium. The dirt seeped beneath her fingernails but Dawn paid no mind to the unpleasant sensation as her eyes focused in the fading light upon a sight that still made her blanch. Dawn chewed on her bottom lip as she reread the inscription on her mother's headstone, guilt all the while gnawing a hole in the pit of her stomach. The ground before the grave was barren and Dawn's cheeks coloured with renewed shame as she realised that she had neglected to bring flowers. For a few moments her gaze relentlessly swept the graveyard as though searching for a suitable answer to the quandary. Finding nothing but a sea of granite and marble stretching endlessly before her, Dawn hunched her shoulders and with a sigh returned her attentions to her mother's resting place.

"Hi Mom," Dawn began tentatively, pausing in order to clear her throat as her ears detected a hitch in her voice. "I'm sorry I didn't bring you anything. I promise next time I will."

A gentle breeze stirred the branches of the willow trees that lined the perimeter of the graveyard and for a while Dawn simply stared entranced as the spindly limbs danced and swayed. This particular corner of the cemetery was secluded enough from the main path to offer Dawn a secure place to hide away, and so for the moment she chose to embrace the opportunity. Since today was Saturday and the sanctuary of school had therefore been absent, Dawn had endured the majority of the day in the lounge of her home under the intense scrutiny of Willow, who appeared to be observing her as though she were on suicide watch. Buffy and Angel had gone out long before Dawn had surfaced from her bedroom and had not returned by the time Willow had announced an unavoidable trip to the library. Seizing the opportunity for escape, Dawn had decided that there was no time like the present to make the so desired visit to Joyce's grave.

Finally, it seemed appropriate to speak again and Dawn settled back on her heels as she prepared to visit with her mother at last.

"I don't know what to say Mom, aside from I'm sorry," Dawn continued, pushing her hair behind her ears and taking in a shaky breath, "I know that doesn't change anything or make it up to the people I've hurt but I hope you at least understand that I never meant to cause anyone pain."

Dawn paused, her head cocked towards the darkening sky as though she searched for some divine sign that her words had been acknowledged. In the distance, a trio of magpies suddenly took flight, abandoning their perch on the shoulder of an intricately carved marble angel and cackling as their wings beat the air. Shuddering, Dawn pulled her thin jacket tighter across her body to guard against the chill that had crept up upon the evening.

"I wish you were here," Dawn pressed on determinedly, surprised by the steadiness of her tone, "everything is such a mess at the moment. I really do love Spike; if I hadn't I promise I would never have… well, I guess you know that part already... You probably already know he's going to do his best to be there for me and the baby, but I'm not sure how well things will work out."

The sound of a small dog yapping interrupted Dawn's monologue and she turned towards the path in time to see a black bundle of fur weaving at speed in and out of the headstones. The dog pressed its snout firmly to the ground and barked again happily, scattering clouds of fallen autumn leaves into the air as it ran. As the creature disappeared from sight, Dawn noted an old man lumbering towards her with a leash slung over one arm and an amused smile playing across his lips. His weathered face was kind and something about it reminded Dawn of her grandfather, who had died shortly before her seventh birthday. His skin stretched across his cheekbones like puckered brown leather but his gleaming eyes were of the most brilliant shade of silver that was visible even from Dawn's vantage point several yards away. The old man offered Dawn a wordless smile as he passed and, for the briefest of moments, Dawn was comforted enough to gather the inner strength required for her to continue.

"I wish that I hadn't hurt Buffy and Angel so much. I hated keeping secrets from her, Mom, but I was scared to tell her the truth, especially when she thought the prophecy was meant for her and Angel…" Dawn trailed off in order to brush away the tears that had stealthily managed to escape, "I really wish it had been. They deserve to be happy and I know Buffy would do a much better job than me with a baby…"

Dawn paused again and her head drooped a little as she reached out a shaky hand in order to caress the granite marker that represented her only link with her mother. She pressed the tip of her index finger into the indentations in the stone and traced the letters of her mother's name, still with some disbelief present.

Dawn's voice escaped her in a broken whisper that she could barely recognise as her own, "I'm so scared, Mommy."

She was crying more freely now, her breath catching in her throat and causing her to hiccup as the tears ran in rivulets down her cheeks. Dawn was so sick of being defeated by her misery but whenever she thought that she had at last conquered it, something else would send her over the edge into hysteria once again. She assumed that her hormones were largely responsible for her recent mood swings but the evident rift that had formed between Dawn and Buffy did little to ease her distress. Dawn was unsure as to whether the damage to their once close relationship was repairable and the notion that it may not be scared her more than the concept of parenthood. She owed so much to her sister who, in one way or another, had forsaken all that was precious to her for Dawn's sake.

Inhaling deeply in a bid to collect her fragmented emotions, Dawn wiped away the tears with the backs of her hands. Her bottom lip continued to tremble but she managed to mute her sobbing after only a few moments had passed.

"I don't expect you or Buffy or the rest of the guys to forgive me for what I've done," Dawn explained, curling her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, "but I just want you to know, I understand what I have to do to make it right."

Before breaking the news of her pregnancy to Buffy, Dawn had spent much of her time in contemplation as to her next course of action. She was intelligent enough to understand the options before her but inexperienced enough in life to be unaware of how these may effect her future. She had considered the obvious choices, termination and adoption being among them, but had quickly arrived at the decision to keep her baby without any real difficulty. Dawn had never truly taken the time to contemplate the idea of not keeping a child of her own, but she found in doing so that her own conscience would never allow it. She was capable of loving a child she was sure, but only time would tell if she was truly capable of motherhood.

"I love you so much, Mom," Dawn said, a smile wavering on her lips, "you were always amazing, everything that we needed you to be without us ever having to ask. I know I can't live up to that… but I'm going to try, for you and for the baby. I wish you'd get to see your grandchild… that they would get the chance to have someone like you in their life… but that's what I'm going to give them… as much of you as I can be."

Dawn paused, her now numbing hands moving forwards and beginning to clear away the small mound of crisp leaves that had collected at the foot of Joyce's tombstone. Her fingers worked quickly and soon the granite was freed. Dawn observed her efforts and consented to smile as she wiped away traces of mud with her already sodden sleeve.

"I just hope it's enough… and that one day, you do forgive me."

The formality of visiting Joyce's grave had seemed right and, as Dawn climbed to her feet, brushing soil and twigs from her jeans, she was filled with a sense of peace that was inexplicable. The breeze gathered again into a gentle wind that moaned as it swept through the branches of the surrounding foliage. Dawn stared at the grave site for a minute whilst mentally stumbling her way through a prayer that she was ashamed to admit she had neglected for almost three years. Touching the top of the marker in a final gesture of farewell, Dawn turned in search of the pathway that would lead her back to the main gate of the cemetery. Her long ponytail whipped up around her as the wind delivered one final large gust before seeming to die down abruptly.

Dawn could not be certain but some inner sense told her that the tender touch of fingertips against her cheek that had arrived with the breeze had not been imagined. Nor had the soft voice in her ear that, despite being little more like a breathy hiss, Dawn could never fail to recognise.

She found the path without difficultly and, with a smile that stretched the expanse of her face, Dawn set off towards home with a single word resonating in her ears.

"Always."


	36. Chapter 36

_**The Prophecy Revised - XXXVI**_

'_Prophecy, however honest, is generally a poor substitute for experience'_

_- Benjamin Cardozo_

A secret that is not yours to tell is often the most difficult to reveal. Buffy had indeed found this to be the case when faced with the prospect of informing both Giles and Xander of Dawn's pregnancy. A unanimous decision had been made to allow Dawn to be absent for the discussion and so that afternoon Willow had made her excuses regarding the library before leaving Dawn alone in the Summers' house. Buffy knew that Dawn would not appreciate the fact that crisis talks were being held behind her back, but Buffy was filled with the strongest desire to protect her sister from the reactions of her friends. She hoped that this was a small sign at least that some healing had begun on her part.

With the news broken and the preliminary reactions to it out of the way, Buffy sank into the cushions of Giles' couch feeling utterly sapped of energy. Angel wasted little time in positioning himself at her side, clasping Buffy's hand in his lap and beginning to rub soothing circles on her skin with his thumb. Buffy smiled up at Angel, finding herself for the innumerable time that day to be thankful for his reclaimed humanity. Willow lowered herself onto the arm of the couch at her friend's side and folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes remained trained upon Xander's features, which had knitted into a frown that betrayed the nature of his present thoughts. Willow held little doubt in her mind that once he had overcome his initial shell-shock, Xander would choose to share his opinions with the rest of the group with abandon. She awaited this event nervously, hoping quietly that Xander would manage to harness a semblance of tact and diplomacy before speaking. She hated to admit that her expectations of this occurring were rather low.

Xander leaned back against Giles' antique bookcase; a gesture that the former Watcher would have scolded him for had he not currently been slumped over the dining room table with his head cradled in his hands.

"Oh Buffy, I'm so very sorry," Giles moaned, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes which were red-rimmed due to lack of sleep. "I more than suspected that Dawn's relationship with Spike was getting out of hand but I did little to prevent it. I fear that had I only intervened sooner then…"

Buffy silenced Giles with a mere glance, biting her bottom lip and determinedly shaking her head. She had long since come to terms with the surprise that Dawn had presented them with, and Buffy was not prepared to allow Giles to entertain even a slither of the blame that she had been forced to sift through.

"No Giles, I'm not going to accept that this is your fault… or anyone else's for that matter. The fact is, Dawn's not a kid anymore and I… well, I guess I just didn't see that until it was too late."

Buffy glanced down at the floor, breathing deeply in an effort to collect herself, whilst Angel squeezed her hand in gentle reassurance. Buffy shot her lover a brief smile before turning once more to Giles.

"The most important thing now is to make sure that Dawn and the baby are taken care of…" Buffy began, running one hand through her hair as she spoke.

"Wait, what?" Xander demanded, meeting Buffy's gaze for the first time since he had received the news. "You're telling us she actually plans on having this… this _thing _grow inside of her and…"

"Xander!" Willow interjected, her tone harsh and reprimanding. Xander merely shot Willow a dismissive glare before continuing his rant with both hands balling into fists at his sides. Buffy stilled herself for the oncoming tirade, having been thoroughly prepared for Xander to receive the news poorly. Xander had always been the more volatile of her friends to approach with information such as this since he appeared to regard change of any nature with the utmost disdain.

"There's some ancient almighty prophecy foretelling the end of the world and Dawn is planning on playing happy families with Spike? How the hell can you allow this Buffy?" Xander challenged, his eyebrows raised as he shook his head slowly from side to side in a demonstration of his disbelief.

"I am _not _allowing anything," Buffy replied through gritted teeth, "Dawn is seventeen years old, she is more than capable of making her own decisions."

"Because so far she's demonstrated such wisdom," Xander countered archly.

"Dawnie needs our support," Willow interrupted, folding her arms across her chest and shooting Xander a pointed look which he chose to ignore. Willow bristled in response to the affront but remained silent in an attempt not to add to the already palpable tension amassed in the room.

"What she needs is someone who isn't afraid to tell her the cold, hard facts," Xander replied, his one good eye flashing angrily as he spoke. Buffy rose from her seat and regarded Xander with murderous intent, almost as though daring him to continue his rantings. Xander stared levelly back at Buffy, no traces of trepidation present in his body language or expression. The patch that concealed his empty left eye socket gave him a decidedly more dangerous air by which Buffy remained unaffected where others may have been cowed.

"You don't get to make those kinds of decisions," Buffy snarled, her lip curling as her anger mounted, "Dawn is my responsibility and I will be the one to deal with this situation."

"Well you've done a stand-up job so far," Xander retorted, his tone bitter. Buffy faltered, blinking rapidly as the barb penetrated. A faintly wounded expression crossed her face for a moment before being replaced by one of pure fury that ordinarily would have seen Xander offering his apologies.

"That's enough," Angel growled in warning as he rose to his feet in order to observe Xander from the advantage of his full height. "You have no right to even pretend that you know how much Buffy has done or would do for that girl."

"It's ok, Angel," Buffy soothed, her fingers wrapping gently around Angel's tensed forearm. Her tone cooled as she turned to address Xander, who seemed to have allowed his shock to overwhelm him into silence for the moment. "Dawn has made her choices… maybe they will prove to be poor ones… but still, _she _made them. Nobody has the right to tell her what she should do here… and nobody is going to try. Do I make myself clear, Xander?"

Buffy's tone left no room for disagreement and she noted Xander's shoulders tense as he realised the implications concealed within her words. By any means necessary, Buffy would protect her kid sister's right to make her own decisions in this matter and any other.

"Crystal," Xander snapped, pushing himself forcefully away from the cabinet and causing it to wobble precariously. A small vase toppled from its perch on the edge of a shelf and clattered to the floor where it exploded into fragments of china upon impact. Xander appeared nonplussed and did not so much as pause to offer an apology to Giles as he gathered his coat in preparation to leave.

"I'll be around when you guys finally see sense," Xander said bitterly, moving towards the door at speed. He paused, his hand wrapped around the door handle as he turned to glance at Buffy, "Oh, and tell 'Rosemary' congratulations from me. I truly hope it ends well for her."

Buffy stood in shocked silence as the door slammed behind Xander's retreating figure. Willow sagged visibly against the couch, relieved that the confrontation had drawn to a close without the bloodshed she had believed to be inevitable.

"Jackass," Angel simply grumbled as he too sank back onto the couch with a sigh.

"Well, however lacking in eloquence Xander may be," Giles began tentatively, wincing as Buffy's intense gaze came to rest upon him, "I fear that he may have a point."

Buffy swallowed hard, all traces of her previous anger melting away now in the calming and fatherly presence of her former Watcher. Folding her arms, Buffy nodded at Giles signalling that he should continue without fear of condemnation.

"I informed you of the prophecy Buffy because I was concerned by it's very implications. It doesn't take a genius to deduce that with the arrival of this… child… is foretold something rather more ominous indeed."

Giles gestured to the pile of ancient texts and scrolls spread across the table before him and frowned.

"I have been researching all mention of this particular prophecy in every volume and piece of parchment that I own… but I fear that I am drawing much of a blank," Giles explained, stifling a yawn with the palm of his hand before continuing, "there is little to no mention anywhere else of a vampire ever having procreated and that fact is presenting rather a problem. Given that Dawn's pregnancy is rather unprecedented, we have no idea whatsoever as to what we should expect."

"Will the child be human?" Willow inquired, and her cheeks immediately coloured at her embarrassment at having touched upon such a sensitive subject in an apparently nonchalant manner. As a scholar herself and also a practitioner of magic, Willow was unsurprisingly curious about the latest developments in both the natural and supernatural worlds. Mercifully, Buffy shot her best friend a smile filled with only understanding. Willow relaxed a little but her cheeks remained stained with a scarlet hue that stretched to the tips of her ears.

"Truthfully," Giles began, rubbing at the shadow of stubble that had sprouted on his chin during the past several hours, "I haven't the foggiest."

"Is it even safe for Dawn to continue the pregnancy?" Buffy demanded, chewing worriedly on her bottom lip as she peered at Giles.

"I wish I knew, Buffy," Giles replied in defeat, tossing his glasses across the pile of withered parchment that lay before him. He rubbed the back of his neck slowly with one hand and cast his gaze downward, his expression clearly one of silent contemplation.

"I presume that she has already made her decision as to…" Giles began in a rather stilted fashion as he attempted to gauge how best to pick his way across the delicate subject at hand.

"She wants to keep the baby," Willow offered, sparing Giles the need for any further discomfort. "We talked this morning… well, barely, but she plans on having this baby despite the prophecy."

"Silly, silly girl," Giles murmured, shaking his head and beginning to massage his brow with his fingertips. Buffy remained quiet, tracing her index finger over the foreign scrawls and scribbles that littered the yellow scrolls now dominating the face of Giles' dining room table. She understood her sister's decision perhaps better than anyone as, when she had believed the child of prophecy to be her own, Buffy had been filled with nothing more than the most natural of instincts for it's protection.

"What do we do, Giles?" Buffy whispered, suddenly dropping down onto her knees in front of the man who blinked in surprise before gathering both of Buffy's hands in his own.

"We will work it out together," he promised, his responding smile filled with warmth. Giles touched the back of his hand fleetingly to Buffy's face and his expression wavered to one of sorrow as she leaned into his touch. Despite Buffy's best protestations, Giles felt that he had failed in his task to keep the Slayer's sister safe in her absence. Giles knew that should anything happen to Dawn as a consequence of this new life taking root inside of her, he would never forgive himself.

"Thank you," Buffy breathed in response, forcing her lips into a smile against the will of her emotions. She glanced up hurriedly as a figure brushed past her in a dark blur and disappeared into the courtyard of the apartment complex.

Buffy shot Willow a questioning glance which was deflected by a simple shrug from the witch, who had watched Angel disappear from his seat with equal puzzlement.

"I better go…" Buffy began, hooking her thumb in the direction of the door in way of explanation, "Angel's taken this kind of hard I guess."

"By all means, Buffy," Giles replied kindly, reaching for his glasses and beginning to clean the lenses vigorously, signalling an imminent return to research. "Take all the time you need."

Buffy smiled at each of her remaining friends in turn, grateful as ever for their support and mere presence in her life. Turning on her heel, Buffy followed Angel out into the bright courtyard and closed the front door behind her with an inaudible click. Angel was seated on one of the several benches that circled the perimeter of the yard, his shoulders hunched and his head resting in his cupped hands. Buffy observed him from the doorway for a few seconds before closing the space between them in five easy strides. Angel remained unmoving and Buffy felt faintly wounded by this fact as she knew beyond all doubt that the former vampire could not have failed to sense her approach. With the transition from vampire to human, Angel had indeed been stripped of a number of his supernatural powers. Yet extensive training and research as well as time in the field had determined that with the metamorphosis Angel had retained a degree of his former strength, as well as a muted cocktail of more acute senses. The explanation for this was unclear but neither Buffy nor Angel were going to look a proverbial gift horse in the mouth.

Seating herself on the bench at her lover's side, Buffy folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently. After no less than five minutes of unnerving silence, Buffy began to grow impatient and chose to clear her throat rather pointedly. Finally, Angel met her gaze and Buffy felt an instant rush of guilt as she noticed how his eyes sparkled unnaturally in the daylight with unshed tears.

"Angel…" Buffy started, reaching across the divide between them to seize Angel's hand. To her surprise and even horror, Angel appeared to recoil from Buffy's touch. The Slayer frowned, hiding her hurt behind a mask of anger.

"I'm sorry Buffy," Angel said simply, his tone that of a broken man. Buffy shook her head, her confusion regarding Angel's mood mounting as each second passed more fraught than the last.

"I don't…" Buffy began. She was silenced by Angel's fingertip pressed tightly to her lips and suddenly he was drawing her into his arms, kissing her with the fevered passion of a man half crazed by hunger. After many breathless seconds had elapsed, Angel broke away from the clinch leaving Buffy panting and evermore confused.

"I just wanted to kiss you… one last time…" Angel explained, his expression unbearably pained. He squinted at Buffy as shafts of bright sunlight filtered into the courtyard and half blinded him. Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her seat and shook her head at Angel to demonstrate her ignorance.

"Giles was wrong, Buffy," Angel said quickly, desperation in his tone and pleading written across his features, "when he said that there was no record of a vampire ever having reproduced- well, that much is true. Wolfram and Hart would have done an amazing job at hiding the paper trail for me. But before I tell you this, I need you to know one thing. No matter where I have been in my life, what I have done… I have always carried you in my heart."

"Angel, you're scaring me…" Buffy whispered, seizing Angel by the shoulders and shaking him roughly as her fear threatened to overwhelm her in a sweeping tide. Angel winced as his lover's fingertips cut into his skin but he made no protest, knowing that he deserved much more than this.

"She was there, Buffy," Angel stumbled on, his eyes desperately sweeping Buffy's face as he attempted to discern the point of her comprehension, "she was there and you… I thought you were gone. I'd lost everything… everyone I loved… I felt like I was failing… no, falling… nothing I did seemed right anymore and nothing made sense and Darla…"

"Darla?" Buffy repeated with a scowl as though the name left an unpleasant taste upon her tongue. "What does she have to do with anything?"

"She was there," Angel moaned, finally breaking Buffy's gaze as his eyes dropped to the sun kissed ground, "I just needed to feel again. I know you've felt that too, Buffy… I know you'll understand. I just needed something to wake me up from the inside… I never once dreamed that it… he… would happen. You have to believe me that if I had known I would never…"

"I don't understand," Buffy hissed, her eyes narrowed now as she observed her lover.

The guilt had been gnawing a hole in him ever since his return to the human world. The ability to walk with Buffy in the daylight had seemed like a fair exchange at first for the crushing shame his secret warranted. But after a while Angel had begun to question his strength as visions of the people who had already been lost to his mistake mingled in his mind with those who potentially might be. Now, with the revelation of Dawn's pregnancy, the remorse had begun clawing away at his soul with renewed vigour. Angel could not simply go on withholding a knowledge from them all that may prove of undeniable value. Nor could he go on building the foundation of his life with Buffy upon a lie of the most unforgivable nature.

Angel hunched over further in his seat, his arms wrapped around his abdomen as he leaned towards the ground.

Several moments passed like this before Angel drew his gaze once again to meet Buffy's. When he did, his eyes were haunted with ghosts he had thought to be long exercised from his life.

"Buffy…" he whispered, "I have a son."


	37. Chapter 37

**A. N. - Once again, the paragraphs written in bold are intended to be 'flashbacks'. **

_**Therapy (Pt. II) - XXXVII**_

'_Words of comfort, skilfully administered, are the oldest therapy_

_known to man' - Louis Nizer_

He was nothing more than a random demon; a red-skinned, two horned atrocity of slight build and average height that she had stumbled across during a sweep of the cemetery intended to relieve just a fraction of the tension coiled inside her. He was unarmed and not overly strong, yet Buffy kept the punches raining down with determined vigour. The demon stumbled backwards and landed hard against a tombstone with his arms spread out either side of his body in an almost angelic pose. His eyes practically rolled around in his head as he struggled to focus once more upon his enemy. Truly, there was nothing exceptional about him from his inexpert fighting style to the inappropriate slogan t-shirt he wore; and yet Buffy was not to be deterred from her goal. Destruction was the one thought that prevailed in her mind.

Buffy whipped a stake from her back pocket and buried it deep into the creature's heart, hoping for an effect beyond the one she received. The demon groaned, agonised, but as Buffy retrieved her stake with a mere flick of the wrist he simply sank to the ground panting. With a shrug, Buffy delivered a roundhouse kick to the demon's jaw that sent his head snapping backwards.

**During the inevitable silence that followed, Buffy became aware of the steady sound of Angel's breathing. After a few moments, a bizarre gurgling noise also found its way to her ears. It took Buffy several seconds to realise that this was the sound of her own hysterical laughter bubbling from her lips. **

"**I'm sorry, I thought you just said…" Buffy paused, wiping away a tear from the corner of her eye before dissolving once more into fits of helpless giggles. She bent double over the bench, one arm wrapped around her stomach as her entire body rocked with the effort of her laughter. **

"**Buffy…" Angel murmured, his gaze sweeping Buffy's face in a concerned manner. Abruptly, the Slayer's mirth dissipated, and in the next instant her balled fist shot forward. The movement was almost invisible to the eye due to the speed at which it was executed, leaving Angel with little hope of extracting himself from the line of fire. **

**Buffy's knuckles connected with the wall a fraction of an inch above Angel's head. The stone splintered with the impact but did not shatter beyond the cloud of dust that filled the air suddenly. The miss was wide and evidently deliberate but nonetheless Buffy's features had hardened into a mask of pure fury. Angel bowed his head, beginning to prepare himself both mentally and physically for what was yet to come. **

"Please… no more…" the demon pleaded, leaning to the side and spitting frothy blue blood onto the soil. His eyes narrowed as he peered up at the Slayer, who had yet to so much as break a sweat.

Buffy clenched her jaw, stealing herself against the demon's plea. She had no desire to feel even the slightest pang of sympathy for the creature, whom she had discovered unearthing a grave with a view to ingesting the internal organs of the recently deceased occupant. If truth be told, Buffy had swung by the graveyard in the hope that she _might _happen upon some unsuspecting minion of Hell upon which she could vent her frustration. Unfortunately, Buffy had found that despite her best efforts, her impending victory was not providing her with the release she so desperately sought.

"You want it to stop," Buffy replied coldly, "then tell me how to kill you. Otherwise, I got no place else to be tonight."

"Come on, Slayer," the demon whined, his face crumpling in a combination of defeat and intense pain, "have a heart. What did I ever do to you, hey?"

"**You can hit me if you think it will help," Angel offered quietly, his gaze slipping to the ground. He drew in a deep steadying breath and noted Buffy almost simultaneously doing the same. She remained unmoving, however, expressing no desire to take Angel up on his offer. **

"**You should know that I have wanted to tell you for so long," Angel said, his voice wavering in a betrayal of the emotions that threatened to overcome him at any moment. "After a while things became too complicated and the lies became too many to keep track of."**

"**What's his name?" Buffy demanded, barely allowing Angel time to complete his sentence. Her eyes remained trained on her knees, which were locked tight together whilst her palms rested on her thighs. Angel noted that the knuckles of her right hand were torn and bloodied but, as he made a move to examine the wounds, Buffy recoiled from his touch somewhat violently. **

"**Connor," Angel simply replied.**

Buffy gritted her teeth and, before she could even begin to contemplate the cruelty of the act, her foot connected once again with the soft belly of the demon. He collapsed to one side, coughing and spluttering pathetically. The demon's resolve was clearly flagging and yet his battered body seemed excruciating hours away from the mercy of death.

"That all you got?" Buffy demanded. The muscles in her jaw flexed as she fought to suppress the sorrow that would surely ebb away at her anger if given the opportunity. Buffy struggled to hold onto her fury like a drowning man would a life preserver, knowing that it was the only thing keeping her afloat for the moment.

The demon's mouth opened and closed although no sound beyond a pained gurgle seemed to escape. The fingers of his limp right hand twitched, beckoning Buffy closer to his body. The Slayer moved forwards unconcerned and crouched by the side of the demon in order to lower her ear to his blood smattered lips.

"Sever… limbs…" the demon choked out with some effort, his eyes widening in pleading. Surprised, and more than a little dismayed by her own zeal for violence, Buffy turned to regard the demon.

**Angel sat obligingly in what he hoped was a desired silence, on Buffy's part at least. The Slayer had remained mute for almost five whole minutes now and Angel found himself growing increasingly anxious as the time amounted. **

"**I know there's nothing I can say to fix this or make it right," Angel said, his voice gentle and carrying undertones of remorse, "I'm not about to insult you by trying. I just need you to know the truth."**

**Buffy's head whipped up and, finally, she consented to look upon her lover's face with eyes that blazed.**

"Oh God…" Buffy whispered, her hand fluttering to her mouth as she drank in the appearance of the creature before her. Buffy's stomach twisted into a sickened knot as she realised that her hands were bathed in the blood of the demon, whom she had been only too eager to offer the most ugly of deaths to. Buffy's disgust was reserved entirely for herself.

"I… I'm sorry…" Buffy murmured, wiping her hands down the legs of her pants in an effort to remove the royal blue liquid that stained her skin. She tentatively reached forwards and, wincing in sympathy, hauled the demon into a half sitting position. The creature groaned as the movement exacerbated over a dozen wounds all sustained within the last twenty minutes.

"Just do it quick, Slayer," he hissed, his breath escaping through his pointed teeth. Buffy faltered, unsure of how to react to the demon's request, which was so filled with agony that it brought Buffy renewed anguish.

"I'm not…" Buffy began, shaking her head vehemently and chewing on her bottom lip, "I won't hurt you again."

"**You think that will help?" Buffy snarled, her upper lip curling back to expose her bared teeth. "You think that if I know the hows and the whys of this that I may come around quicker?"**

"**No, I…" Angel stammered, his eyes growing wide.**

"**Well let's hear it, Angel," Buffy prodded, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a gesture that was both simultaneously angry and defensive, "you want to tell me how you slept with Darla? Somehow created a child with her? Did you raise him together? One great big cuddly, happy family with fangs? Is she still out there somewhere with him… come on, I'm intrigued."**

"**I never meant to hurt you Buffy," Angel sighed, deflated in the wake of her wrath, "I just can't seem to do anything but."**

The demon blinked back the moisture that had pooled in the corners of his eyes and stared askance at the Slayer who knelt in front of him. His expression was mistrustful and his entire body stiffened as Buffy reached out a hand.

"You know, if this is some kind of game…" the demon said, eyeing Buffy warily, "then I ain't interested in playing. I told you what you needed to know so just…"

"I'm not going to kill you," Buffy replied in a rush, her cheeks colouring in shame as she surveyed the demon. Softly she added, "What's your name?"

The demon grimaced, whether pained or embarrassed Buffy could not tell, as he answered, "Roy."

"**You were my moment of one true happiness… the first in over two hundred and forty years," Angel murmured, poising with his hand partially extended to his lover, yet refusing to close the gap between their bodies for fear of igniting a spark of anger. "Darla; she was an act of despair."**

"**What? You expect me to feel sorry for you?" Buffy spat, raking her hands through to the ends of her hair and chuckling dryly. "You betrayed me, Angel."**

"**I don't and I know," Angel replied patiently, "and I wish that it wasn't true. I love my son but he would have been better off without the life having me for a father afforded him- which is why I did what I did."**

**Buffy frowned at Angel in response but a faint spark of interest flashed within her eyes. Angel continued, heartened by the momentary lull in the venting of her rage. **

"**I was in a bad place and I believed I had lost everything. I couldn't see the point anymore in searching for a redemption that would never come, and so instead I decided to give myself over willingly…" Angel paused to glance at Buffy, who appeared to be contemplating his words with an unreadable expression. "When I realised my mistake, everything suddenly became clearer and for a while things were as they should have been. Then she came back and… it was impossible… but before I knew it Darla was dead… again… and he was there. I was a father."**

"**Well, bully for you," Buffy seethed. **

"I gotta hand it to you, Slayer," Roy said in an almost conversational tone as he worked to even out his breathing, "you got one humdinger of a right hook there."

Buffy nodded and replaced the bloodied stake into the back pocket of her trousers without a word. She had surprised even herself with her actions and she was now unsure as to what the next logical step should be. With her anger now fragmenting, she was left feeling as though a gaping hole had been punched in her abdomen. Buffy sank down onto the slightly sodden grass verge at the side of the demon and affixed him with what she hoped was a companionable smile.

"**It didn't last long," Angel placated, his expression dark as he allowed himself to relive those memories that had remained comfortably buried for many months now, "he was taken from me and when he was finally returned he could see me for the monster that I was. And I couldn't blame him."**

**Buffy blinked in confusion as she attempted to process the cryptic meaning behind Angel's words. He stared intently at his lover, allowing Buffy to draw her own conclusions for the time being. **

"**I took over at Wolfram and Hart for him," Angel explained, "to give Connor a better life… a life with a father that could teach him to ride a bike, take him to baseball games, talk to him about girls. The only thing that a life with me would have given him is nightmares."**

"**You gave him up?" Buffy queried, something about her tone different now, almost gentle. She peered at Angel through hooded eyes, her bottom lip trembling despite her best efforts to check her grief. **

"**I did."**

"So…" Roy began, the smile he returned wavering in a demonstration of his nerves, "you always this uptight, Slayer?"

"Buffy," interjected Buffy, her cheeks colouring. "And I've had a bad day."

"You and me both kid," Roy quipped, a genuine grin breaking out across his crimson face as he nudged Buffy gently in the ribs. Buffy laughed despite the truly bizarre nature of both the situation and her companion. She felt herself relax just a little and decided to embrace the sensation that had become almost alien to her now.

"This may not be my place and- please don't beat me to within an inch of my life if it ain't but… do you wanna… maybe… talk about it?"

"With you?" Buffy queried, glancing at Roy in evident surprise. The demon shrugged and then instantaneously winced as the slight gesture of raising his shoulders sent a spasm of pain throughout his body.

Immediately guilty, Buffy nodded.

"Sure thing."

"**There was a spell," Angel began after another detached pause had elapsed, "to remove all traces of Connor from the memories of the people in my life. New memories were made for him with a new family. They're good people… they could give him what he deserves."**

**Buffy glanced down at her fingernails quietly, unsure as to how to interpret the wealth of emotions that warred within her. **

The story had poured out with less effort required than Buffy had anticipated. Roy had listened raptly to the intricacies of the tale without interruption, patiently waiting for Buffy to draw to a close. His attentive expression never once wavered but Buffy's gaze wandered to anywhere but the demon's face, which had already begun to heal from his injuries.

"So…" Roy said finally, the word accompanied by a long and awed whistle.

"So?" Buffy repeated, the bridge of her nose wrinkling in confusion.

"Well, if my hunk of an ex-vampire boyfriend announced he had a secret mutant-super-baby lovechild squirreled away somewhere in the continental U.S., then I may go around graveyards whaling on defenceless demons too."

Buffy stared at the demon aghast and swallowed hard, her discomfort evident. Roy simply shook his head and dissolved into soft chuckles, which were undeniably good-natured. He clapped a palm to Buffy's shoulder and winked.

"Don't sweat it kid," Roy insisted, "you got it rough. Especially with the whole Slayer gig going on."

"Thanks… I think…" Buffy mumbled, rubbing her eyes wearily and grimacing as she glanced at the face of her watch. Her thoughts drifted momentarily to Dawn and how she would be spending the remainder of the evening in the wake of the gang's failure to return. Buffy would have given anything to be curled up on the couch with a DVD and nothing more than a bowl of popcorn separating her from her kid sister, but too much had occurred over the last few weeks to make real that desire in the near future.

Buffy glanced up as Roy finally pushed himself to his feet and began brushing the clumps of soil and grass from his clothing. He held his body perfectly upright now, no traces of his injuries remaining present in the slightest. Buffy's eyes widened as she marvelled at the demon's apparent self rejuvenation, and her guilt began to ebb away somewhat.

"Did it help?" Roy asked softly, returning his attention to Buffy.

"I guess," Buffy nodded with a small smile, curling her legs into her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees. Roy grinned brightly and turned his back on the Slayer, beginning to amble towards the gate of the graveyard at an easy pace. He paused after several feet and, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he shot Buffy a curious glance.

"So, what you gonna do, kid?"

"**This doesn't change anything, you know," Buffy whispered huskily as she peered at Angel through a film of unshed tears. Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, Angel nodded his understanding. From its position on her left hand, the diamond in Buffy's engagement ring glinted in the rays of afternoon sunshine that filtered into the courtyard. Buffy ran the tip of her index finger over the stone but her eyes remained fixed to the ground at her feet. **

"**Where do we go from here?" Angel inquired, his voice barely audible but still evidently shaking. Buffy blinked rapidly in order to dispel the excess moisture in her eyes before returning her gaze to the expectant face of her lover. **

**Reaching out a shaking hand, Buffy caressed Angel's cheek with her fingertips and shuffled closer to him across the bench. After a moment, Buffy leaned forwards and brushed her lips against Angel's. He moaned softly but resisted the urge to draw Buffy into his chest, knowing that her forgiveness had yet to be gifted to him.**

**Drawing apart with a kind of slow reluctance, Buffy affixed Angel with a sad smile. In the few seconds that followed, Angel's deep russet eyes widened slightly in a subtle gesture that signified his understanding.**

"**I need some time," Buffy managed, her eyes desperately sweeping Angel's features as though recommitting his new human visage to memory once more. When she spoke again, the emphasis on her words was clear. **

"_**We **_**need some time."**

Buffy glanced down at her fingernails and stared at the chips that had formed in her French polish during the course of the fight. Finally, when it could be avoided no longer, Buffy returned her attention to the demon waiting before her.

"My job," Buffy murmured in reply.

**Buffy walked towards the parking lot of the apartment block with her head bowed and her hands clasped in a knot before her. She barely recognised the thud of her own footsteps against the tarmac, but the sound of Angel's voice calling after her suddenly hauled her back to reality as it could never fail to. **

"**Buffy!" Angel cried, still seated on the bench upon which he had shared his terrible revelation. A beat and then his voice once again, soft and hopeful, "You still my girl?"**

**Buffy paused for a moment in contemplation and then with a saddened smile, she replied with familiarity, "Always."**

**Then, Buffy Summers turned on her heel and walked away.**

Roy nodded once in understanding before raising a hand to the side of his head in order to offer Buffy a slightly skewed salute.

"See you around, Slayer," Roy said, his tone kind and his responding expression nothing less than sympathetic.

"Yeah," Buffy whispered, as the demon disappeared into the night, "see you around…"


	38. Chapter 38

_**With Or Without You - XXXVIII**_

'_**You look like**_

_**a perfect fit**_

_**For a girl in need**_

_**of a tourniquet**_

_**But can you save me**_

_**Come on and save me**_

_**If you could save me**_

_**From the ranks **_

_**of the freaks**_

_**Who suspect **_

_**they could never love anyone…'**_

_Save Me by Aimee Mann_

_**One month later…**_

They had been surviving adequately; getting by well enough in her temporary absence, Angel preferred to think. He spent his days working out at the local gym and then ensuring order was maintained in the Summers' home when he should have been sleeping in preparation for nightfall, which brought with it the next shift at the security firm he had acquired a job at. Angel despised his new role patrolling the Sunnydale mall after hours to deter vandals and thieves, but the paycheque it provided was a vital addition to the household. With a string of counterfeit documents in his possession and no real experience of the modern working world, Angel had found himself severely limited in his employment options. He had accepted the first position that had become available to him at a prominent local security firm and quickly come to regret the decision.

The hours, he found, were long, boring and filled with very little action that could be construed as constructive. Angel had managed to slay the odd vampire over the course of the last few weeks, but that fact hardly made the job worthy of anymore merit in his opinion. The once scourge of Europe had been reduced to donning a polyester uniform and keeping the company of a balding middle-aged guard named Duke, whose current favourite topic of conversation was his chronic prostate trouble. If truth be told, Angel was toiling to pass the time before her return and managing to procure very little sleep in the bargain. The dark circles that had formed underneath his once vibrant eyes greeted him every time he chose to look into a mirror.

Dawn had accepted Buffy's absence with a level of maturity that Angel had thought beyond the girl. Although visibly saddened and anxious, Dawn maintained an impressive façade and had managed to go about her business with only a little less dedication than normal. Of course, Spike had spent almost every evening of the last month at the Summers' home attempting to help Dawn with the more mundane tasks of caring for a household, such as cleaning and grocery shopping. Despite his discomfort with the vampire's presence, however, Angel had held his tongue; reminding himself that the house belonged more to Dawn than it ever would to him. Besides which, the sight of Spike donning a pinafore and armed with a feather duster had almost made his being there worthwhile.

Spike had also attempted to offer penance by picking up the slack with the nightly patrols that would otherwise have been neglected in the absence of the Slayer. Angel secretly appreciated this more than anything, finding a sense of peace in the knowledge that the townspeople of Sunnydale would be safe in the care of the vampire until Buffy's return. He knew that Buffy too would be grateful.

Willow had maintained a permanent presence in the Summers' home but the majority of her time was eaten up by her much anticipated return to UC Sunnydale. Both Angel and Dawn were insistent that life continue in as normal of a capacity as possible, equally convinced of Buffy's intention to come home once a time had passed. Since her departure, Buffy had been conscientious in her approach to her family and friends. She ensured to contact Giles by telephone every forty-eight hours with news of her health and wellbeing but no word at all as to her location for probable fear that Angel may be tempted to follow. Buffy spoke little to Giles of what had transpired between them, but Angel had made the decision that the rest of the gang deserved to know the true reason behind Buffy's decision to leave Sunnydale. Their reactions had been mixed but not wholly unexpected.

Predictably, it had been Giles that exhibited the most anger towards Angel and the intricate lie that he had woven. It had irked the former Watcher greatly to know that Angel had given into temptation without knowing whether his actions would bring forth the demon within- who had after all stolen the life of the only woman he had ever loved.

"How could you have been so foolish… so reckless?" Giles had demanded, his fist slamming down on the surface of the table and scattering a dozen scrolls over the floor. "How could you have taken the chance of unleashing that monster upon the world once more?"

"There was never any danger of that happening with anyone but Buffy," Angel retorted, striving to keep calm in the face of Giles' temper.

"And what if you'd have been wrong, Angel?" Giles spat, his face now mere inches from Angel's own, "would you have ever forgiven yourself for the consequences?"

Angel had been unable to answer this question and the dozen more that followed it. The rest of that day had passed in a blur of enraged stares and awkward silences.

Upon returning home that evening, Angel had discovered the absence of Buffy's suitcase and, resting upon their bed, a simple note that he had read only once before screwing into a ball and discarding. There had been little of clarity in the letter beyond the statement that Buffy loved them all deeply and would never fail to uphold her duties. She had neglected to mention her whereabouts or indicate a time as to when or even if she would return, but Angel could not bring himself to feel even the slightest twinge of anger over this.

Whilst Angel loved his son more than anything, he recognised that this fact alone could not justify the action that had brought Connor into being. Angel knew that whilst pained by his albeit brief relationship with Darla, the route of Buffy's hurt was actually Angel's refusal to share such an important part of his life with her; the woman whom he claimed to be his soulmate. The existence of a child was no small truth to conceal and thus Angel undoubtedly understood the reasons for Buffy's absence.

Xander also had remained more distant than was usual from the group. He had taken up residence in the apartment he once shared with Anya, and begun the process of starting up his own construction business with the financial assistance of one of his many uncles. He and Willow met once a week at the Bronze for drinks but, since the revelation of Dawn's pregnancy, Xander had rather stubbornly refused to set foot in the Summers' home. At Angel's instruction, Willow had informed Xander of the latest development amongst the Scooby gang but his reaction had been one that she had refrained from sharing. Angel assumed that this was in an effort to preserve his feelings and perhaps also to prevent the permanent fracturing of their already tenuous friendship. In reality, Angel cared for little other than when Buffy would choose to return.

Angel had discovered quickly that it was the afternoons that were hardest to bear when both Dawn and Willow were occupied with school, and he found himself facing an empty house. Often, he would retreat to his bed but hardly ever would he find respite there in the form of slumber. His mind raced with thoughts of his last exchange with Buffy, which he replayed over and over again. On one of the rare afternoons that sleep managed to find him, Angel's subconscious was tormented still. He dreamt of Buffy and of his son, the faces constantly shifting and intermingling whilst each shouted blame at him for all in their lives that was wrong. On such occasions Angel had almost wished for the dreamless slumber of the vampire to be his again.

Today, mercifully, sleep had evaded him despite the heavy sense of exhaustion present in every muscle of his body. Angel lay beneath the plum satin covers and stared up at the ceiling, his hands folded above the miracle of his heartbeat. Without Buffy, his humanity was an unwelcome creature indeed.

The sound of the front door lock sliding out of place brought Angel from his reverie. Next came soft footsteps, the owner of whom Angel found himself correctly able to identify even before their head made a tentative appearance around the door frame of the bedroom.

"Angel?" Dawn queried nervously, her eyes screwed tight shut, "are you dressed?"

Angel chuckled softly, pulling the sheets up around his chin so as to cover his naked torso before he replied, "I'm decent. Come on in, Dawn."

Smiling thinly, Dawn pushed open the door and entered the bedroom, seating herself on the edge of the bed without invitation. Angel shot a glance at the digital clock situated on the nightstand and then turned a quizzical expression upon Dawn.

"I have a free last period," Dawn explained, beginning to trace the raised brocade of the duvet cover with her fingertip. Her gaze drifted uncomfortably to the pillow at Angel's side, which had remained without an occupant for the last month. Buffy's nightgown still lay folded neatly atop it as though Angel expected her sudden reappearance at any given moment. Dawn swallowed hard and turned to Angel.

"You really think she'll come back?" Dawn inquired, her voice soft and unsure. Angel blinked in surprise and affixed Dawn with an angry glare that caused her to flinch.

"You don't?" Angel demanded, his mouth pressing into a thin white line. Dawn merely shrugged and her shoulders slumped over a little further.

"I think we haven't given her much of a reason to," she admitted with evident guilt, the sight of which immediately caused Angel's heart to swell in sympathy. He stretched out a hand across the bed and gathered Dawn's into his own.

"She'll be back soon," he assured the girl, who appeared younger than ever in the daylight that filtered in through a chink in the closed curtains. Angel noted how the long braid of her hair seemed to have lost a little of its shine now, and how her cheeks had taken on an almost sunken and pallid quality. He wondered just how much of this was due to the sickness that sent Dawn running for the bathroom at daybreak every morning, and how much was a result of worry for her sister. He knew certainly that she picked her way through her meals and tipped into the garbage whatever she could manage to. Angel knew also that the majority of the daily household chores had fallen to Dawn, who tackled them all without complaint when Spike would allow. Her deep sense of remorse was driving her onward in an attempt to make an unnecessary amends.

"How have you been?" Angel asked gently, stroking his thumb across the back of Dawn's hand hesitantly. Dawn smiled but Angel detected the tremble in her bottom lip and allowed her a few moments of silence to compose herself.

"Good," Dawn finally replied, "when I'm not throwing up or falling asleep at my desk or worrying about how I'm going to support a baby or if my sister…"

Dawn trailed off and shot Angel a guilty look. "Sorry," she whispered.

"No," Angel said with an audible sigh as he propped himself up on his elbows, "I'm sorry, Dawn. None of us have been there for you as much as we should have."

"Hey, no biggie," Dawn insisted, pulling her hand from Angel's grip and wrapping her arms around her herself in a gesture of comfort, "you guys have lives too."

"And you're a big part of them," Angel promised, his tone containing nothing but sincerity.

"Even if all of this is my fault?" Dawn shot back, blinking to dispel the tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes.

"None of this is your fault," Angel replied quietly, his eyes downcast, "Buffy didn't leave because of you or me… she left because of the lies. She wanted to take care of you but right now she just needs…"

"Time," Dawn repeated, knowing all too well the word that would doubtlessly conclude Angel's explanation. It was one she had heard pass from both Willow and Giles' lips a lot over the last month, but this fact had done little to strengthen her belief in the word.

Angel nodded, clearly not fully convinced by his own assurances.

"I keep thinking… what if she doesn't come back in time for the baby?" Dawn continued, her two upper front teeth sinking into her lip, "I… I don't want to do it alone."

"You're not alone, Dawnie," Angel interjected, "and Buffy wouldn't miss it for the world. Until she gets back you have Spike, Willow, Giles… and me, if you'll have me?"

Slowly, Dawn's lips twisted into a smile of gratitude that Angel was not entirely sure he deserved.

"Thank you," Dawn breathed, her eyes glistening. Angel smiled somewhat sadly and patted the hand that Dawn rested by her side.

"I promise you," Angel began, leaning forwards slightly as he spoke, "we will all make sure this works. You don't need to worry about a thing aside from taking care of yourself."

There was a moment of silence and then Dawn nodded once at Angel before beginning to gather her schoolbag and stand. Angel reclined against the mound of pillows once more in preparation to watch the girl leave, but Dawn hesitated on the threshold of the doorway. Her hand hovered above the door handle undecidedly for a second and then she turned again to address Angel.

"Angel?" Dawn said, her voice a whisper. Angel raised both eyebrows simultaneously, affixing Dawn with a questioning look.

"What's it like…" she continued, "being a parent?"

Angel blinked in surprise, unsure as to how to respond to a subject matter that he had received little practical experience of. He thought back to the first moment he had cradled a newborn Connor in his arms; the feelings of love and joy and peace that had existed immediately within him once that tiny body was nestled in his arms. His thoughts turned unbidden to the night that Connor had been kidnapped; the crippling fear that ruled the heart and mind of a parent. Although in reality Angel had experienced very little of Connor's life, he had truly tasted the role of a father to a greater degree than he had ever deemed possible.

"Scary," Angel finally replied, his voice cracking a little under the strain of his memories, "amazing. To know that you would willingly kill and die for someone you have known for less than two minutes… there's nothing else like it in the world."

With a smile that somehow seemed more genuine than the last, Dawn turned on her heel and exited the bedroom, leaving Angel alone with his thoughts.

When she reached her own room, Dawn closed her door with a quiet click and immediately moved towards her desk. From the shelf next to her computer, a childhood photograph of her and Buffy smiled back at her. The picture had been taken many years ago now, long before Buffy's calling as the Slayer or even the separation of their parents. Although Dawn knew that the image and the memory behind it were fabricated, she still allowed it to remain. Secretly, it was one of her favourite photographs of the Summers sisters. Their smiles were wide and real, and their eyes gleamed with childish mischief as they hunkered down together on the sand of an L.A. beach. Dawn recalled that several seconds after the photograph had been taken, she had slipped a handful of wet sand into the waistband of Buffy's pants. The sisters had then chased each other clear across the beach before Dawn had taken a spill and cut her lip open on a protruding rock. Buffy had then carried the sobbing Dawn almost half a mile back to their parents, comforting her with kind words all the way. This was how it had always seemed to be with the sisters; Dawn fell down and with relentless strength Buffy picked her back up again without complaint.

Dawn laid a hand across the still flat plain of her stomach and sighed heavily as she continued to gaze at the photograph. Sinking down onto the chair in front of her desk, Dawn had reached for the telephone and started dialling the number from memory before she had completely finished making her decision.

Dawn knew that she had taken so much from Buffy over the years, and scarce once considered the possibility of what she might give back. Given the current circumstances, now seemed as good a time as any to change this natural order of things. Despite the truth and sincerity behind Angel's words, Dawn knew that there was one thing at least that she could do to lessen the burden that Buffy bore.

On the twelfth ring, the telephone receiver clicked and a familiar voice, slightly coloured with annoyance, answered.

"Hello?"

Dawn paused, her mouth instantly dry and fear gripping her heart. The agitated voice repeated it's greeting with even greater hostility and, realising that soon the opportunity would have escaped her, Dawn finally spoke.

"Hi Dad…"

**x-x-x **

Darkness had fallen upon the town at an alarming speed and Kyle had come to regret his decision to walk back from band practice with as much haste. The tuba tucked underneath his arm was impossibly bulky and Kyle knew that the eight blocks he had yet to conquer on his quest to reach home would prove difficult as a result.

Grumbling all the while, Kyle hefted the instrument into his other arm and resumed a slow walk that gave him little hope of reaching home before dawn. Wishing that he had retrieved his MP3 player from his locker before setting out, Kyle began to hum somewhat tunelessly for company. It was as he had reached the second chorus of a Britney song that he was ashamed to even recognise that Kyle first heard it. The shrill scratching sound of what appeared at first to be metal against metal, accompanied by a heavy panting not dissimilar to the laboured breaths of an animal. For a moment, Kyle froze with his hands tightening in reflex around the body of the tuba, which he would not hesitate to employ as a weapon should the need arise. He was barely a block away from the high school thus Kyle briefly considered the possibility of returning there at break neck speed. He knew, however, that his father would not take too kindly to being disturbed during the biggest game of the season in order to collect his snivelling son, who could easily have walked the distance home. And so, shuddering involuntarily, Kyle continued. He had barely gotten five more bars into the song before the growling started up.

Before he could consider his actions further, instinct kicked into action and Kyle had flung the tuba to the sidewalk in order to break into a run. He dared not glance over his shoulder as he tore down the deserted street, the sound of his feet slapping the pavement not succeeding in drowning out the ferocious snarling that pursued him. Kyle whimpered, cursing his rotund frame as he recognised the unmistakeable sound of his hunter gaining on him.

Without the clarity of calm thought to guide him, Kyle turned down a corner he did not recognise and found himself immediately staring at an eight foot brick wall. As an almost delighted series of howls resounded at a distance that was all too close for comfort, Kyle flung himself at the wall. His fingertips slid uselessly across the red brick and missed the top of the wall by inches. Kyle cried out in terror and repeated his futile effort, all the while muttering profanities under his breath. On his fifth attempt, and with the terrifying sounds almost upon him, Kyle managed to grip the top of the wall. The boy grunted as he dangled feet above the floor, struggling to maintain an adequate hold on his only avenue of escape. His trainers scrabbled at the face of the wall but failed to find purchase. Kyle screamed, tears of frustration and fear stinging his eyes as he attempted time and again to force his body upward and out of danger.

However, despite his panic, Kyle was struck by the sudden descent of silence. He panted heavily, his chest heaving with the very effort of breathing whilst his blood thundered in his ears. Kyle cocked his head to one side, straining to detect the sounds of the hungry animal whilst still hanging from the precarious ledge. There was a remarkable stillness, a sense of overwhelming calm, and then something stirred amongst the shadows of the garbage bags that hunkered against the sidewalk. A great hulking mass of fur that quivered as it rose impossibly onto its hind legs, and regarded Kyle through narrowed eyes possessing of a keen intelligence and insatiable lust. Kyle's bottom lip trembled and the tears spilled freely down his cheeks.

Closing his eyes against the sight before him, Kyle released his grip and tumbled to the ground. Sobbing, Kyle curled his knees into his chest and pressed his back against the wall that had proven to be his defeat.


	39. Chapter 39

_**Something Borrowed, Something Blue - XXXIX**_

'_What difference does it make how much you have? What you do not_

_have amounts to much more' - Seneca_

_**One month later…**_

The situation had become desperate and Spike had realised as much not a moment too soon. One evening little over a week ago, Spike had discovered Dawn snoring softly whilst slumped over a collection of text books that were spread out across the dining room table. After tucking her into bed for the night, Spike had set about returning the books to Dawn's bag when from the front pocket of which had dropped an item that would have surely stilled the beating heart of any mortal man. Spike had simply regarded the bridal magazine with suspicion before gingerly bending to pick it up between a thumb and forefinger in order to replace it. To his own surprise, Spike had managed to suppress the shudder and feelings of abject terror that he had expected would follow.

Spike had chosen to refrain from mentioning the discovery to Dawn but nonetheless had found it plaguing his conscious thoughts ever since. Oblivious to Spike's find, Dawn had continued on with life without so much as a subtle inference to marriage. However, Spike found that the more he dwelled upon the subject the easier it became to fathom the reasons behind Dawn being in possession of such an item. They were after all soon to bring a child into the world; an experience typically attributed with bonding couples closer together. Spike had found himself considering their albeit strange relationship in new lights, and it had not taken long for him to come to the rather natural assumption that marriage should perhaps be the next step for the couple. As a human, William had been somewhat of a traditionalist and, although as a vampire he had done his best to shed that persona, he was still nothing lacking of a gentleman at heart.

Thus, Spike had resolved to fulfil Dawn's wish to the best of his ability, and had set about planning his proposal with only one evident problem weighing on his mind. This being, his complete lack of money and means of acquiring it. The realisation had filled Spike with a sense of near insurmountable dread as he realised that, whilst being unable to grant Dawn the lavish wedding she deserved, he was also incapable of providing for a child. Dawn had mentioned in passing a small sum of money that Joyce had reserved for her college fund but the very suggestion had induced in Spike a stab of guilt comparable to a stake through the heart. Instead, Spike had resolved rather quickly to shoulder the burden of their apparently growing financial difficulties alone. However, with no employment prospects on the horizon or rainy-day fund squirreled away in his crypt, Spike was left with few options as to how to begin. It was not long before the more obvious avenue became the most appealing and likely means of which to procure the cash he desired.

Crime was not uncharacteristic to Spike's nature as a vampire, but the fact that he now possessed a soul served to limit his capabilities somewhat. The idea of injuring an innocent person in the pursuit of money had become abhorrent to Spike, but the thought of seeking employment as a demonic lackey was equally unappealing. After a few days of pause, Spike had decided upon his best route of opportunity; one that would secure the safety of the townspeople of Sunnydale by day whilst gratifying Spike's penchant for _Grand Theft Auto _by night.

After less than a week of light surveillance work at the Sunnydale car dealership, Spike had finally decided to make his move with the aid of a sorceress who had amounted an impressive debt with a demonic loan-shark. Under the necessary cover of darkness, Spike had managed to enter the compound undetected and escape with several cars on the tail of teleportation spell that could be deemed decidedly wonky. Nonetheless, after selling both cars to a Valkarash demon and parting company with the rather questionably dubbed sorceress, Spike had secured an impressive wad of cash to be added to his fund. It was with said money in his possession that Spike entered the Summers' home in decidedly higher spirits than was usual of late. Whistling in what he hoped could be described as jaunty manner, Spike breezed through the front door without the necessity for invitation and ascended the stairs two at a time to the upper level of the house. Angel merely grunted in greeting and arched an eyebrow from his position on the couch.

Rapping on the doorway of Dawn's bedroom, Spike waited patiently to receive a response from within before entering. As the door swung open in answer to her call, Dawn glanced up from her copy of the current English Lit. text, of which she was already three chapters behind the rest of the class. Her smile was almost instantaneous upon sight of Spike, who returned the gesture before crossing the room and seating himself at the foot of the bed that Dawn was reclined upon. Dawn closed the book hastily, secretly relieved for the interruption, and scooted over to the vampire. Stooping slightly, Spike planted a kiss on Dawn's forehead before settling back against the mound of pillows with Dawn nestled into the crook of his arm. Their sighs of contentment were almost comically simultaneous.

"How's your day then, love?" Spike inquired, beginning to run his fingertips across Dawn's forearm and grinning as the fine hairs stood erect in the wake of his touch. Dawn snorted contemptuously and arched an eyebrow.

"The usual; I wake, I barf, I pee, I go to school, I pee again, barf a little more, squeeze in some more peeing, lunch, and then my afternoon is fully dedicated to sleeping through the classes I am currently in danger of failing."

Dawn pouted slightly to which Spike could only chuckle in response. He ruffled her hair playfully, succeeding in extracting a minute smile, before commencing in scattering kisses across the crown of her head. The scent of her shampoo teased his nostrils and Spike found himself unconsciously taking a breath in order to enjoy the sensation further.

"It will get easier," he soothed, brushing a stray lock of hair aside as it tumbled across Dawn's face. The dubious expression seeping over her features at an alarming rate wiped the smile clean from Spike's face and instead replaced it with a troubled frown.

"There just seems like there's so much to worry about," Dawn replied, pausing in order to stifle a yawn with the palm of her hand. "My grades, Buffy and Angel, the baby…"

"Ah, well," Spike interrupted, his characteristically arrogant grin returning. "You don't need to worry about the baby anymore. I'm taking care of everything."

Dawn hesitated before pushing herself up on one elbow in order to regard Spike fully. His satisfied smile grew broader for one reason or another that inexplicably evoked a sense of unease within Dawn.

"What exactly do you mean?" Dawn asked, cocking her head to one side and glancing questioningly at the vampire.

"Well maybe not everything," Spike conceded, his self-assured smirk waning a little, "but at least now we don't have to worry about money and stuff."

"Spike…" Dawn began uncertainly, her eyes narrowing as they scanned Spike's face, "have you been gambling again? Because I…"

Spike leaned forwards and silenced Dawn with a kiss from which both parties drew reluctantly away from only a few seconds after it had commenced.

"Nope," Spike replied, his crystalline eyes gleaming in the lamplight with visible sparks of excitement, "much better than that. Just trust me Dawn, please. Everything the baby needs, everything you want…"

"Everything I want?" Dawn interjected, peering with startling intensity at Spike who shifted in discomfort under such scrutiny. "What do I _want, _Spike?"

Spike cleared his throat in a bid to buy himself extra time before an answer to Dawn's question would be forcibly obtained. Mentally, he was busy berating himself at having ruined the surprise and apparently angering Dawn in one fell swoop of stupidity.

"Well, I mean… you know…" Spike stuttered, his gaze dropping to the floor as he mumbled almost incoherently, "marriage and… stuff."

"Marriage?" Dawn gasped, her jaw dropping and eyes growing as wide as saucers. "Why would you think…?"

Dawn trailed off as a sudden wave of understanding washed over her. With a groan, she slumped back against the pillows and covered her face with the palms of both hands. Mistaking the gesture for one of embarrassment, Spike hastily pried Dawn's fingers from her reddening cheeks and gathered her hands into his own.

"I found the magazine in your stuff when I was clearing up," Spike explained, his expression now pensive and his tone earnest, "but I want you to know that… well, I get it… and I don't _just _get it… I mean, I want it… you…"

Spike groaned in frustration as he witnessed hours of careful planning obliterated by his own ineloquence. He gripped Dawn's hands tighter and hastily kissed her lips in a bid to extract from the gesture some much needed confidence.

Dawn remained silent and unblinking as Spike drew away from her, and the vampire continued in a rush before his nerves claimed the best of him once more.

"What I mean to say is… Dawn, I love you in a way that I thought was impossible. You make me feel things that I don't even have words to describe because in over one hundred years, I've never felt anything close to them before. You've given me everything and… well, you've been the first woman to have loved me like a man. Now I want to do this for you."

Dawn shook her head rapidly and Spike noted that a wealth of tears had formed in the corners of her eyes. Inspired and invigorated somewhat, Spike continued.

"Dawn, nothing would make me more honoured than if you would agree to be my wife."

Spike glanced expectantly at Dawn, his smile wide and encouraging although his hands trembled like those of a prisoner on death-row. A single tear began a course across Dawn's cheekbone and Spike reached out in order to brush it away with the pad of his thumb. However, with a deeply inhaled breath, Dawn chose that moment to break her silence and Spike was rendered statuesque by her single unexpected word of reply.

"No."

There was a moment of still, un-breathing silence before Spike allowed his hands to drop into his lap and he affixed Dawn with an uncertain stare.

"I'm sorry… what?" he demanded, his voice nothing more than a croak. Dawn sniffled and swiped at the moisture in her eyes with balled fists before once again repeating her answer in a tone that rang out with clarity.

"I said, no."

"Thought so," Spike replied with more than some difficulty. The vampire sat back on the bed, his eyes almost boring a hole into the bedspread as he struggled to reach a state of comprehension.

"I'm sorry, Spike," Dawn said in a breathy rush as she seized Spike's cold hands in her own. "I know how what you saw must have looked but… well, I'm only seventeen and pretty soon I'm going to have to deal with motherhood on top of the rest of my crazy life and, well… marriage is just too much."

Spike nodded mutely, barely noticing as Dawn laid her palm against his cheekbone and stroked her thumb across the deeply defined line of his jaw.

"I don't want to get married right now, Spike," Dawn said softly, gnawing on her bottom lip as she recognised the expression of pain etched in Spike's features, "maybe some day in the future but right now, isn't just loving me enough?"

Slowly and after several seconds more of heavy silence, Spike began to nod.

"It is."

Dawn breathed a sigh of evident relief and flashed Spike a smile that wavered in threat of a further outpouring of guilty tears. With some difficulty, Spike forced his own lips into a responding smile.

"I just thought that… well… the magazine…" Spike said somewhat apologetically. Dawn's cheeks flushed at the mention of the article that had been the cause of such trouble and embarrassment.

"It's for a school project," Dawn offered, averting her gaze to her cuticles in a deliberate pantomime of examining them. Spike nodded and once again the uncomfortable silence descended around them before Dawn cleared her throat and began to speak.

"What exactly did you mean before when you said you were taking care of everything?" Dawn probed, her interest suddenly spiked as she recalled the vampire's words.

"I've just come into a bit of money is all," Spike replied after a beat, choosing his words carefully. Dawn narrowed her eyes and regarded Spike intently.

"Come into money?" she repeated, her tone disbelieving, "how does a vampire come into money? It's not like you've got any rich old relatives to conveniently croak, Spike."

Spike winced and forced a charming smile in the hopes of swaying Dawn's mood in his favour. Dawn merely planted her hands on her hips and continued to glare pointedly, her foot tapping against the bedroom floor as she waited. With an internal groan, Spike dug one hand into the pocket of his leather duster and withdrew the slightly dirty wad of cash concealed within. Dawn gasped and for the second time that evening her mouth dropped open in a tiny 'o' of surprise.

"Where did you get so much money from?" she demanded, her lips pressing into a thin line of discontent.

"I just sold some stuff to a demon I know," Spike answered, his tone quivering a little too defensively for Dawn's liking.

"What stuff?" she demanded, each syllable she spoke heavily punctuated by her anger.

"Cars…" Spike murmured, his countenance now strongly resembling that of a sulky child as he hung his head and peered down at the toes of his boots. The corners of his mouth turned downwards into a grimace as Dawn balled her hands into fists and snarled furiously.

"You've been stealing cars?" she hissed, visibly struggling to reign in her own temper. Her entire body trembled with the effort and her eyes blazed with a fire unlike any other Spike had ever seen before. For a moment, he was speechless, but he recovered quickly as Dawn delivered a harsh punch to his shoulder blade.

"Not stealing…" Spike said defensively, rubbing at the mildly sore spot that Dawn's blow had created, "borrowing…"

"Oh gee, so I guess you had permission then," Dawn snapped tartly, rolling her eyes at the ludicrous statement.

"I'll pay them back… someday…" Spike attempted to placate her as he jammed the wedge of cash back into his pocket.

"What the hell made you think that I would have wanted this?" Dawn demanded, stabbing the tip of her index finger into Spike's chest.

"I did it for us and for the baby," Spike replied quietly, "I didn't want you to have to worry about money and stuff. I wanted our kid to have everything… and I didn't know how else to do it."

"Try getting a job, Spike," Dawn retorted, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "It's what most people do when they need money."

Spike tutted in annoyance as he barked, "I'm the un-dead love. My employment prospects are fairly limited."

"I cannot believe that you thought I would find this acceptable. Me and my baby will have nothing to do with your dirty money," Dawn seethed. She crossed her arms over her chest and regarded Spike expectantly.

"Well that's all bloody well and good," Spike snapped, his irritation shining clearly through his composure as the argument grew more heated, "but where the hell do you expect us to find the money to support a kid?"

Dawn's eyes narrowed to murderous slits and, barely an instant after the words had left Spike's lips, she had jumped off the bed and crossed the room in three strides. Flinging open her underwear drawer, Dawn reached her hand inside and pulled a stack of hundred dollar bills from underneath the neat rows of socks and panties. Spike stared aghast at the banded cash as Dawn tossed it across the room and he plucked it from midair.

"Where…" Spike began, his confusion evident in his expression as he peered quizzically at Dawn.

"My Dad," Dawn replied curtly, glancing quickly away from Spike as her bottom lip began to tremble. Spike stood up and within an instant was standing before his lover in order to gather her into his arms.

"I didn't think you wanted that… guy… in your life anymore," Spike said gently, drawing away from Dawn and holding her at arms length in order to meet her teary gaze. She sniffed and shook her head, simultaneously shrugging in a clear display of her own confusion regarding the matter. As far as Spike was aware, the last time Dawn and Hank Summers had made contact with each other was following Joyce's death several years ago. His subsequent lack of concern for the welfare of his daughters following such a monumental event had finally soured what little good feeling there was left within the family.

"Turns out he doesn't want me in his life anymore either," Dawn answered, her voice a pained whisper. "I called him a few weeks ago. He's ashamed of me and the baby. He sent me some money… for my future… and he… well, he made it clear that I wasn't to contact him again. He doesn't even know about Buffy."

Spike sighed heavily and pulled Dawn into the comfort of his chest, rubbing soothing circles across her back with the palm of his hand.

"You'll always have me, love," he whispered, brushing his lips against Dawn's earlobe as he spoke. Dawn smiled despite herself and drew away from Spike's embrace with evident reluctance.

"The money… promise me you won't…" Dawn began. She was suddenly silenced by Spike's finger pressed gently against her lips.

"I promise you that I won't do it again… and I'll return the money," Spike said, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of placation, "it was stupid of me and I'm sorry."

Dawn nodded and wasted little time in replacing her head against Spike's shoulder.

"We'll work it out," Dawn murmured, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, the scent of the evening air filling her nostrils as it radiated from Spike's clothing. "With the money from my d-… Hank… we'll be ok for a while… until something else comes along."

Wordlessly, Spike simply nodded with the seed of a new plan already beginning to take root in his mind.

**x-x-x**

Willy swept the broom across the tiled floor laboriously until every last cigarette butt and stray demon scale had been collected into a neat pile in the centre of the bar. The flickering light overhead did little to aid Willy in his task but he worked tirelessly nevertheless. Willy took a kind of pride in his establishment that was unusual among the seedy underbelly of the demonic world; it was his personal mantra that at _Willy's_ his patrons should find the finest selection of liqueurs in Sunnydale with a bar so pristine they could eat their entrails off it.

Willy barely glanced up from his work as he heard the soft swish of the main door swinging open followed by a set of light footsteps resonating against the linoleum.

"We're closed," Willy said curtly, resting the broom against the bar as he reached down to retrieve the dustpan.

The visitor failed to respond, lingering on the edge of a shaft of light so that their features were thrown into the obscurity of darkness. Willy carried on unperturbed and simply stabbed his finger in the direction of the 'closed' sign that hung nearby in the window.

"Oh come on Willy, don't be like that," Spike purred as he stepped from the shadows, allowing his features to be bathed in eerie illumination. Willy straightened up somewhat stiffly and regarded Spike with a tense smile.

"Spike, long time no see," Willy stammered, his grip tightening unconsciously on the handle of the dustpan. With a nervous chuckle, Willy scooted closer to the bar and towards relative safety should Spike decide to lunge. Willy was fully accustomed to being accosted by the Slayer's people and subsequently beaten to a bloodied pulp in the pursuit of information, yet still it was a pastime he did not relish.

"What brings you to this fine establishment?" Willy inquired, his cheery tone painfully forced, "and coincidentally, when I said we were closed, should there be anything you require then…"

"Shut up, Willy," Spike commanded, taking a slow step towards the barman, who recoiled as though he had been slapped.

"Shutting," Willy squeaked, beads of perspiration beginning to form on his brow, which he dabbed at with a soiled bar napkin.

"I need a favour," Spike said, continuing to walk towards Willy purposefully in a manner that did little to alleviate the man's fears for his safety.

"Look, Spike," Willy stuttered, holding his hands out before him in pleading. "I got nada. Nothing. Zip. The underworld's gone real quiet since Sunnydale…"

"I don't want information," Spike replied coldly, drawing to a halt so close in front of Willy that the toes of their boots met. Willy swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

"Please Spike, take anything just…"

Spike blinked in surprise and shook his head, laughing softly at the terrified expression worn on Willy's face.

"I'm not going to take anything," Spike soothed after a pause. He smiled broadly and clapped his hand on Willy's shoulder in an almost friendly capacity. Both his expression and tone were equally bright as the vampire continued with enthusiasm, "You and me, Willy… we're going to be partners."


	40. Chapter 40

_**His Father's Son - XL**_

'_Sometimes the poorest man leaves his children the richest _

_inheritance' - _**Ruth E. Renkel**

_**Seattle**_

_**One month later…**_

She watched the building from the shadows of a back alley, careful to keep her body as concealed as the oddly jutting walls would allow. Her palms rested against the cool brick and she chewed on her bottom lip with a ferocity that threatened to soon draw blood. Her heart hammered against her ribcage almost painfully, whilst the rush of her own pulse in her ears had risen to a deafening peak. Her palms began to moisten in a telling fashion and not before long droplets of perspiration dotted her brow. Gritting her teeth determinedly, she took a few deep and measured breaths in a bid to force her own body back into submission; after all, it was not as if the world of surveillance was alien to her.

Allowing her body to dip forward by an inch or so more, she squinted in an effort to pull the doorway of the library building her gaze was trained upon into sharper focus. Finding her target still absent, she sighed and sagged a little in defeat. He had been surprisingly easy to track down using only the fragments of information she had acquired and yet still she felt an increasing guilt at the methods she had employed to do so. Shaking her head in order to dispel the thought, she attempted to remind herself of the necessity of her ventures. And yet with every passing second, her very presence in this place seemed more and more like a betrayal of the man she loved.

It was with these thoughts at the forefront of her mind that she first noticed him. Just a hand pushing open the doorway at first, followed by a set of broad shoulders, and then a dark head that was slightly bowed against the relentless rain. His movements were fluid as he emerged from the library despite the hefty rucksack tucked under one arm and the fact that he had neglected to tie either of the laces of the combat boots he wore. His body was lean and long yet from beneath the thin cotton of his shirt a set of clearly defined muscles rippled. His eyes were obscured by the pair of unnecessary shades he hastily pulled down from his forehead, but the chiselled line of his jawbone was unmistakable in its origin. He was everything and yet nothing she had expected all at once and, for a moment, she stood locked in a stupor. It was as he began to disappear from view, propelled across the sidewalk by long, easy strides, that the woman forced her own feet into action.

Keeping close to the walls of the building, she ducked out of the alley and began to pursue her quarry. She found herself breaking into a gentle run in order to match his pace but she weaved her way through the crowd of pedestrians with her mouth set in a determined line. The sidewalks, slick with rain, generally required special negotiation but she had not nearly enough time to pay mind to caution.

As he rounded the corner, she bolted across the street, barely registering the blasting horns of the numerous cars that had skidded to a halt just inches short of hitting her. The angry cries of the drivers washed over her and yet she kept running, panting now with the effort. As her sneakers pounded out a desperate rhythm against the sidewalk, her head whipped from side to side as she attempted to bring the boy's figure back into focus. The quiet side-street that stretched before her was vacant and yet she was certain that this had been the route he had taken. The woman paused on the corner of the street raking both hands through her hair in a clear display of frustration and, deciding there were no better options, she continued onward.

She had barely reached a distance of three yards when the lid of the trashcan swept out from the side of a deserted building and connected squarely with her jaw. The force was enough to drop her to the ground but not to render her unconscious, and less than a second after the impact had occurred she was back on her feet, albeit slightly groggy. Her hands whipped up in front of her body in a defensive pose that by now was instinct alone. It did not take long for her to locate her attacker, whose stance mirrored her own as he dominated the sidewalk before her.

She gasped and drew back against the shelter of the building at her side. He stood and faced her brazenly, his poise both assured and deadly. She did not doubt either of these attributes after having watched him on the hunt these past few nights, unbeknown of course to Connor Reilly himself.

The rucksack had been abandoned recklessly at his side as though he expected this fray to last no longer than minutes, simply serving as a minor inconvenience to the rest of his day. His sunglasses had also been discarded, giving her a good view of his eyes which she was surprised to discover were a hazy blue in colour. Little of Angel was reflected within them and she found herself somewhat disappointed by that fact. She had always considered Angel's eyes to be among his best features. Now that she was finally able to regard Connor at close quarters, she was startled by the boy's undeniable resemblance to his mother. She had expected Angel's strong features to have dominated their son and yet so much of Connor reminded her of Darla, from the lips that seemed perpetually twisted into a pout to the slim and almost delicate nose.

Her brow furrowed in a perplexed fashion as she became lost in the contours of the boy's face and, for a moment, Connor seemed somewhat confused. In that split second, as his brow furrowed and his head tilted slightly to one side, he was so much Angel's son that she stumbled backward in awe. Finally, after a deep and hesitant breath, he spoke.

"So you're hotter than the average demon, I'll give you that," he offered, his velvet voice lilting in an amused manner as he surveyed the woman somewhat appreciatively. She stiffened and attempted to collect herself, grateful for the moment that in her confusion Connor seemed to be making no move to attack. It was almost as though he sensed something within her that threw his own judgement into question. Although rooted to the spot and still locked in his defensive pose, Connor seemed to be struggling to actually identify the woman as a threat.

"I-I'm not… a demon…" she stammered, suddenly allowing her hands to fall to her sides in favour of adopting a more relaxed and convincing demeanour. Connor arched a thick eyebrow and remained unmoving, clearly unwilling to take much on faith.

"So how come you've been following me for the past five hours?" Connor countered, a small smirk playing across his lips as an expression of surprise crossed the woman's features.

"More like the last week actually. I… er…" she faltered, pushing a lock of hair that had escaped her messy ponytail behind her ear. She sank her top teeth into her bottom lip as she struggled to form an explanation that would prove satisfactory. Connor finally lowered his balled fists, instead crossing his arms in front of his chest whilst he continued to gaze quizzically at the young woman.

"Overzealous parking warden?" she offered, wincing as she realised how lame she sounded even before the words had fully left her mouth.

"I don't drive and even if I did, there's no way my folks would let me near their car," Connor deflected almost instantly, his sceptical expression now giving way to faint amusement. As she opened her mouth in search of a more convincing argument, Connor's eyes suddenly widened, prompted by the ghost of realisation.

"You're _her, _aren't you?" he demanded, suddenly stepping forward and seizing the woman by the elbows. She was surprised to find the pressure of his grip somewhat painful and, unnerved, attempted to shake the boy's fingers from her arms. Determined, Connor dug his fingers into her skin with ferocity, his eyes narrowing as they searched her face for some kind of response. She could sense the familiarity in his eyes and the excitement that coursed through him as he stood rocking slightly on his heels.

"Who?" she replied, her voice quivering. Swiftly, as though a jolt of electricity coursed through his body, Connor released the woman from his grasp and took a step backward.

The words spilled from his lips in a rush, "You're Buffy Summers."

**x-x-x **

Buffy peered into the depths of the mug of steaming brown liquid before her that had rather dubiously been termed 'coffee', and frowned before emptying a third sachet of sugar into it. Grabbing a teaspoon from the table, she concentrated on stirring exaggerated circles in her mug, which allowed her to keep her gaze trained firmly downwards. Connor had not taken his eyes off the Slayer since they had arrived at the small, rundown coffee house. He seemed to be eyeing her with a range of emotions that went from stunned awe to scathing hostility in a five second window, and Buffy was uncertain as to which of these would ultimately win out. The thick and heavy silence had weighed down upon them since they had seated themselves at a table. Every passing second saw Buffy growing more and more uncomfortable until eventually she decided that breaking their mutually agreed silence would be for the better.

"So how did you know…" Buffy began, peering at Connor from beneath her lashes.

"Who you are?" Connor finished with unnerving certainty. Buffy arched an eyebrow, simultaneously impressed and irritated to discover that the boy seemed to possess the same penchant for finishing one's sentences as his father.

"How could I _not _know you?" Connor replied with evident glee, taking a small sip of his latte and curling his lip in distaste. He hastily placed the mug back onto the table. Buffy simply shook her head and shrugged a little, reluctant to probe the boy for more information than he seemed inclined to offer. Sensing her unwillingness, Connor sighed and leaned closer to Buffy across the table. Fighting the urge to withdraw, Buffy met Connor's gaze. There was something about the boy that still unnerved her, although Buffy was unable to pinpoint exactly what that was. She knew from her observations of late that he was in no way a threat to the forces of good, or indeed much beyond an average college student, but she was unable to shake the sense of unease that filled her every time their eyes met.

"As much as it hurts to say this, you are the only woman my father… my _real _father… has ever loved," Connor replied, his smile thin and somewhat pained as the thought of his biological mother flashed through his mind, "he used to keep a picture of you… when everyone else thought he was reading- there it was- right between the pages. He'd stare at you for hours… like you were his religion or something. I don't think he ever knew I knew."

Buffy's mouth dropped open to form a tiny 'o' of surprise and she felt her cheeks beginning to flush with embarrassment.

"Did he ever… talk about me?" Buffy inquired, mentally chiding herself for straying into a territory that she was not sure she was ready to revisit. Connor chuckled softly and inclined his head as he scrutinised Buffy. She stared levelly back at the boy, her body leaning forwards in a display of eagerness.

"Nope," he replied, his eyes narrowing as Buffy's shoulders slumped a little at the revelation. In the next breath, Connor continued unabashed, "Stare at your picture for hours… sketch you… call your house and then hang up… sure thing, all the time. But talk about you? Nope- never."

Buffy rolled her eyes and raised the coffee mug to her lips. As the pungent scent of un-dissolved granules assaulted her nose, she thought better of her decision and replaced the drink untouched.

"Last thing I heard," Connor began, reclining in his seat and hooking his hands behind his head, "Angel was in Sunnydale with you… a changed man. That true?"

"You mean he hasn't… he didn't…" Buffy stammered in disbelief, "does he ever call?"

Connor's responding smile was surprisingly bright as he shook his head.

"Write? Email? _Twitter_?" Buffy attempted, her eyes growing wider as Connor deflected each of her questions with a small shake of his head. "And you… don't you care?"

Connor shrugged and Buffy immediately sighed, expecting a monosyllabic response that would only add to the tension between the two.

"Look, Angel and I understand each other," Connor said quietly, resting clasped hands on the surface of the table, "the last time we saw each other was over a year ago but we have our ways of always knowing."

"You mean you spy on each other?" Buffy demanded, her lips pursing in displeasure at the very idea. Connor laughed and jabbed a finger playfully in Buffy's direction.

"And what exactly would you call what you've been doing to me for the past seven days?"

Buffy was silenced immediately and she lowered her gaze to the surface of the dirty table.

"I'm not… I wasn't spying," she managed, her tone obviously awkward. "I just needed to see you. To know…"

Connor nodded encouragingly at the Slayer, who simply shook her head as an adequate explanation for her behaviour escaped her. In truth, she had craved many things from her intended visit with Connor, but now that she was face to face with the boy, she found herself wondering if she had indeed answered any of the questions that had plagued her. She had hoped that observing Connor would perhaps prepare them all better for the nature of Dawn and Spike's impending child. The prophecy surrounding the baby was ominous at best and Buffy knew that although Giles would not rest until he had deciphered its true meaning, they were engaged in a race against time to determine whether the child would indeed prove a threat to them all. Buffy was certain that Dawn would be unwilling to consider these possibilities, as any mother naturally would. She also knew that any information they could acquire could prove invaluable, and she was reluctant to trust Angel's judgement in this matter.

However, Buffy could not deny that, upon learning of the existence of Angel's son, she had been filled with a kind of morbid curiosity that had refused to allow her a moments rest during her waking hours. She had decided to attempt to track the boy down using only the information she had managed to forage from Angel's belongings before leaving Sunnydale. Buffy knew that she had to see Connor with her own two eyes; and yet she was utterly clueless as to what satisfaction or peace she would gain from this.

"It's just… if I had a son," Buffy began softly, sweeping her arm to encompass them as she continued, "I couldn't imagine this. This isn't the way it's supposed to be."

"Angel and I aren't exactly your average relationship model," Connor replied, "I was stolen away to a demon dimension when I was weeks old and raised by a madman who taught me to hate everything I had ever come from… man, I did some bad things when I came back, Buffy. But Angel… in his own way… I guess he saved me. He made it so I could have everything he could never give me- or at least he made it so that's what I _thought _I had. The people that raised me are good people and I love them… and I love my father too… but we don't fit in each other's lives."

"Sometimes just knowing is enough I guess," Buffy said quietly, rubbing at her moistening eyes with balled fists and sniffing conspicuously. She flashed Connor a weak smile which he returned with slightly more enthusiasm.

"You look tired," he said with a startling bluntness that was not unkind. Buffy nodded, feeling every last drop of strength ebbing out of her body, which had moulded itself into the vinyl cushion of her seat. She reached once again for the coffee mug and this time drank deep despite the acrid sting that assaulted her throat.

"I better get going," Buffy said, pushing her chair hastily away from the table and beginning to gather her purse. Connor's hand closed over her own and he gently tugged Buffy back into her seat.

"I guess I can understand why you had to see me," Connor said, the smile he wore now beginning to fade as he peered instead in earnest at Buffy. "But I don't understand what you're running from."

"I'm not-…" Buffy began indignantly but was silenced by a single dubious glance from Connor.

"I know the look. It's not like I haven't ever run from things in the past," he replied pointedly. His tone adopted a more gentle quality as he continued, "He's a good man, Buffy. I can only guess that the reason you're here instead of there is because he hurt you, and I probably have something to do with that so I'm probably gonna be the last person you want to hear this from but… go home."

Buffy stared mutely at Connor, her expression similar to that of a pouting child. Her bottom lip protruded and her arms were crossed defensively before her.

"Everything he does- it's always because he thinks it's for the best. He had his reasons and maybe they were all wrong, but you would have to be a supreme idiot to think that one of those reasons could ever be that he just doesn't love you enough."

Buffy flashed Connor a wan smile and unconsciously tightened her grip on her purse. She gnawed on her bottom lip as she contemplated the boy's advice, desperately attempting to locate even the tiniest flaw in his reasoning.

"Gee, I'm kind of embarrassed I'm that transparent," Buffy finally managed with a sigh.

Connor chuckled and shook his head, an act that caused his brown bangs to fall across his eyes, although he made no move to displace them.

"Don't be," he answered, adding sheepishly, "I'm kinda embarrassed I called my 'stepmom' hot and hit her in the face with a trashcan lid."

Buffy reached hastily across the table for the one clean napkin she had spotted and, retrieving a pen from her pocket, scrawled a familiar number. When she was done, she pushed the paper across the table to Connor with an encouraging smile.

"If you ever…" she began. Connor interjected before her sentence had even neared completion, his tone and expression equally sober and yet neither containing the anger she would have expected.

"I won't."

Buffy nodded and, with a final backward glance at Connor, she headed towards the door of the café and into the uncharacteristic afternoon sunshine. For a moment she stood still, seemingly blinded and confused by the daylight. Then, with a smile that came surprisingly easily, Buffy disappeared into the crowd.

The ghost of a smirk played across Connor's lips as he watched the woman's retreating figure through the grimy windows of the street café.

Into his cup, he murmured with fondness, "It was nice to meet you, Buffy."


	41. Chapter 41

_**California - XLI**_

'_**It fell around you like the stars**_

_**You picked up everything they dropped**_

_**And though it breaks you like a song**_

_**You had some secrets of your own…'**_

_California by Low_

_**Sunnydale**_

_**Three days later…**_

She had neglected to call first and yet somehow that had seemed like the right decision. After over a month of unexplained absence at a time when those around her needed her most, Buffy was both uncertain and reluctant to broach any conversation that may herald her return. Instead she had decided that an element of surprise would be best for all involved. That was, of course, right up until the second her feet had come to rest on the front step and her key was poised mid-flight towards the lock. It was during that exact moment that Buffy had become paralysed in the grip of what she recognised almost immediately as the familiar fear of rejection. Unable to do much else, Buffy lowered the hand that gripped her key to her side, and stared at the front door of her home. The sense of foreboding she felt was unnatural and yet Buffy felt wholly justified. Suddenly, she wished she had called.

In the long weeks of her absence she had frequently wondered about the friends and family that she had left behind. The first few days had been the most difficult and Buffy had been haunted by an overpowering sense of responsibility until she had finally relented and made contact with Giles. It was a comfort to know that her former Watcher at least understood the reasons behind her departure and, although his support remained unspoken, it had undeniably been leant. Buffy had promised to check in at least weekly with Giles and this was a vow she upheld, knowing only too well that those who loved her needed to know of her welfare as she did theirs. Somehow this fact had made the prospect of going home a little easier to consider; knowing that her return would not be met with the hostility of those who had been forced to worry unnecessarily. It was only Angel's name that had not once pervaded her conversations with Giles. He had always alluded to Angel's general wellbeing but was evidently wise enough to know that Buffy had not been ready for anything more detailed.

The early morning sunshine refracted off a mobile of hanging crystal prisms that had been placed on the eaves of the porch sometime after Buffy's departure. She stared mutely at the beautiful miniature rainbows the swaying crystals cast onto the step, and raked her fingers through to the ends of her ponytail. The internal flight from Seattle had been a short one but Buffy had enjoyed little rest since her decision to return to Sunnydale, and she was aware that this fact was reflected in her unusually unkempt appearance. Her jeans hung a little lower than they ought given that she had lost some weight in her absence, and her eyes were rimmed by dark circles that cast a sallow hue to her usually bronzed complexion. Groaning at the hesitation that served only to prolong her unease, Buffy jammed her key into the lock and twisted. Her breath caught in her throat as the lock hit a glitch and refused to turn. In the few seconds it took for the mechanism to yield to her touch, Buffy had already considered the possibility that the locks had been changed with the purpose of shutting her out. Hearing the familiar click of the latch sliding back, Buffy's cheeks coloured a little with embarrassment.

With only three deep breaths to steady her, Buffy pushed open the front door and stepped into the hallway of her home. The quiet was overwhelming and Buffy allowed her one bag to drop heavily to the polished floor only for the company of the dull thud it made.

Buffy peered up the staircase hopefully, straining to detect the sounds of several bodies stirring. Glancing at her watch, Buffy grimaced at the ungodly hour at which she would usually have still been tucked up in bed. Realising that it was too early for either Willow or Dawn to be contemplating getting ready for school, Buffy abandoned her bag and moved towards the kitchen in search of coffee. Rather than wake the entire household, she resolved to greet them with a breakfast feast that would hopefully absorb even a little of the shock of her return. As she pulled open the door of the refrigerator, Buffy could not help but dwell once more on the fact that a wiser woman really would have called.

Breakfast banquets had been Joyce Summers' forte but, much to Dawn's chagrin, one that had been reserved only for the most special of occasions. It now seemed oddly fitting to Buffy that this day should rank in such a category. Nodding in approval at the sight of the fully stocked fridge, Buffy began pulling out ingredients and balancing them on the counter at her side. Half an hour later, and after several unidentifiable concoctions had been disposed of, a rather more dishevelled Buffy stood gazing proudly at her efforts; a stack of only mildly charred pancakes, fruit salad, French toast, freshly squeezed orange juice, and a pot of coffee that had been stewing for twenty minutes. The bacon, eggs and sausages that she had intended to form the bones of the meal were among those lost to the garbage disposal but even this had done little to dampen Buffy's enthusiasm. It was as she laid the final plate on the dining room table that the sound of footsteps descending the staircase two at a time reached Buffy's ears. Straightening up and attempting to ignore the sudden stab of fear seizing her heart, Buffy turned to the doorway of the dining room with a smile that was agonizingly forced.

No more than seconds later Dawn appeared in the doorway, sniffing curiously at the mixture of odours permeating the air. Her gaze ticked first tothe laden table and then to Buffy, who stood with her hands jammed in her pockets. Dawn's mouth fell open and, although her arms almost instantly stretched out in welcoming before her, she remained rooted to the spot. Buffy's bottom lip began to tremble and her smile grew watery as she closed the distance between her and Dawn in less than two strides. Flinging herself into her sister's arms, Buffy laid her head against Dawn's shoulder and struggled to contain the tears that would otherwise overwhelm her.

"Buffy, you're really here," Dawn whispered, her tone awed and her voice cracking at the edges. Buffy nodded, unable to offer more for the moment, and simply breathed deeply allowing the scent of her sister to flood her nostrils.

"I'm here," Buffy finally choked out, drawing away from Dawn and holding the girl at arms length in order to examine her. As Buffy had expected, little about Dawn had changed in the last few months, save for the slightly healthier glow that now radiated from her skin and the tell-tale soft bulge where once the flat plane of her stomach had existed.

Buffy was relieved to see that her sister looked well despite the trials of the last few months.

"You are here, right?" Dawn suddenly demanded, her smile sobering as she stared at Buffy. "I mean, this isn't just a flying visit or something?"

"I'm here," Buffy repeated, rubbing gentle circles with her thumbs across the top of Dawn's arms, "for good."

"Oh Buffy," Dawn gasped, startling Buffy with the intensity of her grip as she seized her sister in another embrace. "I'm so sorry."

Buffy swallowed hard and extricated herself from Dawn's arms with great care. She paused in order to catch her own breath and offered Dawn a smile that came easier than she ever could have hoped.

"No, I'm sorry," she replied, cupping Dawn's cheek in her palm and gently inclining her sister's head in order to meet her gaze. "I am so proud of you and I never should have made you doubt that."

Dawn nodded, sniffing back tears whilst Buffy pulled a chair from the table.

"The parts of the breakfast that were mildly tepid are getting cold," Buffy explained as she gestured towards the seat. She could not mask the sigh of evident relief that escaped her as Dawn tucked herself carefully behind the table. The sisters exchanged smiles that, although slightly guarded, were sincere and ready. Buffy was undeniably still stinging from the news of Dawn's pregnancy and also reeling from the revelation of Spike's involvement in it all, and yet she had some time ago come to terms with the way things were to be. She was now both prepared and eager to offer her full support to Dawn in whatever sense it may be required. Buffy's guilt at her initial explosion had plagued her for weeks, and she was keen to get to work at dispelling it as soon as possible.

"S'good," Dawn mumbled through a mouthful of pancakes drenched in syrup, whilst wasting little time in adding three more to the pile on her plate. Smiling in satisfaction, Buffy planted herself in front of the coffee pot and settled for nibbling on a slice of French toast.

"So is Willow almost done in the bathroom?" Buffy inquired, glancing at her watch and noting the surprisingly rapid passage of time. "She's going to be late."

Dawn shook her head and raised a glass of juice to her lips, allowing the liquid to fill her mouth before the pancake had even been swallowed. Buffy hid a grimace behind the palm of her hand, glad that the bizarre tastes apparently afforded by pregnancy were not hers.

"Willow uhm… she kind of moved out," Dawn replied, laying her fork by the side of her plate and peering at Buffy. Feeling her smile falter, Buffy quickly raised her coffee mug to her lips.

"Oh?" she managed after a pause.

"About a week ago," Dawn continued somewhat delicately, clearly unwilling to risk upsetting Buffy further, "a space came up in the dorms and what with the new baby and stuff, Willow thought it would be best to take it."

"Oh," Buffy repeated, mentally wincing at her own sudden inadequacy to converse.

"She still comes by a whole lot," Dawn said, her tone becoming somewhat more breezy. She picked up her fork and resumed her attack on the stack of soggy pancakes.

"So has anything else… changed… whilst I've been gone?" Buffy asked softly, circling the rim of her mug with her index finger and peering glumly into the bowl of fruit salad immediately before her.

"Angel got a job," said Dawn and almost instantly her fork clattered to her plate as she wondered how _that _name might effect Buffy's mood. However, Buffy simply nodded in a manner that seemed both calm and approving.

"That's great. What does he do?" Buffy inquired with interest, spurred on by the sudden more positive turn of events to resume picking at her breakfast.

"Night guard," Dawn revealed, desperately attempting to thwart the smirk that tugged at the corners of her lips. There was a moment of pause before Buffy slumped forward across the table and dissolved into a bout of hysterical laughter. She slammed her fist down on the tabletop, causing the cutlery to raise an inch in the air, and clutched desperately at the ache of amusement afflicting her chest. Tears streamed down Buffy's cheeks, adding new light to her eyes, and it was not long before Dawn had succumbed to her own laughter.

After several minutes, the sisters recovered themselves and Buffy began dabbing at her eyes with a napkin. Occasionally an amused snort would escape her as images of Angel clad in polyester and wielding a can of mace dominated her mind.

"He should actually be getting back soon," Dawn said quietly, her eyes averted to her almost empty plate. She used the prongs of the fork to weave a syrupy pattern across the surface of the china, refusing to meet Buffy's gaze. Dawn's cheeks flushed crimson and Buffy watched her sister curiously, bemused by the nature of her embarrassment.

"Buffy, I'm so sorry that I lied to you," Dawn breathed in a rush, her gaze suddenly snapping up to hold Buffy's.

Buffy raised her hand in a gesture designed to silence Dawn but the girl shook her head and continued nonetheless. Her eyes shone with vehemence and she leaned closer across the table.

"No, I need to say this," said Dawn somewhat sharply, "I never meant to lie to you or to anyone. I was just too scared of admitting the truth and letting everyone down. I know now I was wrong and I'd do anything to take it back but please, Buffy… please don't punish Angel for my mistakes. You guys… you're like… Romeo and Juliet without the mutually agreed suicide and stuff. You were made for each other."

"Dawn, nothing you did or didn't do made me angry at Angel," Buffy replied patiently before taking another swig from her mug. Her mouth felt suddenly unbearably dry but the bitter coffee that she had neglected to sweeten did little to remedy this. Buffy cleared her throat before continuing.

"And I'm not mad at Angel… not anymore," she soothed, "I guess I got a little perspective whilst I was away."

Dawn nodded and reached towards the mound of toast, grabbing a slice which she then dunked in the pool of syrup remaining on her plate.

"I don't know what's going to happen between me and Angel," Buffy resumed, now more thinking aloud to herself than truly conversing, "I know what I'd like and what I want and what's probably for the best… but none of those things are meshing right now."

The sound of a key turning in the lock for the second time that morning interrupted Buffy's monologue. She fell silent quickly and exchanged glances with Dawn who had swept up her plate and disappeared into the kitchen with it before the sound of the front door closing had even ended. Blinking in surprise at her sudden solitude, Buffy rose to her feet and gripped the side of the table for support, should it be required. She listened with a faint smile to the sound of muted but familiar humming now emanating from the hallway.

The dark head that appeared seconds later around the doorway was bowed and so Angel did not immediately notice the presence of another body in the room. His nostrils first twitched, drawing his eyes to the welcome sight of the coffee pot, and then a beat later to the blonde figure who stood behind it. Realisation dawning upon him in a rush, Angel swept the peaked uniform cap he had been wearing from his head and tossed it over his shoulder in embarrassment. It skittered across the hall floor and landed by the front door in a slightly misshapen heap. Buffy and Angel regarded each other, neither managing speech or even the slightest expression of emotion. Normally, Angel's atrocious hat hair would have been enough to melt the almost painful silence.

"Hi," Angel eventually murmured, his dark eyes scanning Buffy's figure in a concerned manner. He was evidently searching for visible signs of injury and his tensed shoulders did not relax until he was fully satisfied of Buffy's wellbeing.

"Hi," Buffy answered, punctuating her greeting with a shy but warm smile that caused Angel's heart to skip a succession of beats.

"Giles didn't mention…" Angel began softly as though he were talking to a timid animal that was particularly likely to bolt at any given second. Buffy shook her head.

"I didn't tell him," she explained, her tone a little more apologetic than she had intended. The tension between the couple was palpable and Buffy sighed with the realisation that she had no idea how to fracture it.

"You look…" Angel began, searching for an adjective as inoffensive as possible, "a little beat."

"You too," Buffy observed, a grin breaking through the stony mask of her features as she observed Angel's midnight blue uniform complete with handcuffs hanging from the belt. "And- wow, by the way."

After a moments pause, Angel allowed a smile to spread across his lips and, in that instant, the mood seemed to lift just a degree. Angel lowered himself into the chair that Dawn had occupied, his eyes still trained upon Buffy as though he were afraid that she might disappear should he become distracted even for a second.

"Buffy, I…" Angel attempted, his head suddenly whipping up in Buffy's direction. The Slayer intervened before Angel could even contemplate continuing.

"Angel, there's more to say here than we can cover right now and I for one am kinda too bushed to even try," Buffy said, her stern gaze commanding Angel's silence. He simply nodded in response and lowered his eyes to the table.

"Sure, I'm sorry," he stammered, "I guess you've had a long journey. If you wanna go upstairs- oh, I didn't mean… I can take the couch or Willow's old room… or I could just go out if you'd prefer?"

The series of questions hung unanswered in the air for what seemed to Angel like several hours. In reality, Buffy allowed no more than a few seconds to elapse.

"I don't want you to go out," Buffy said gently, reaching towards Angel and brushing her fingertips across the back of his hand. She felt the thin dark hairs stand erect in the wake of her touch and as the contact of her skin ended, Angel visibly shuddered a little.

"I… well, I was kind of hoping that you…" Buffy paused, struggling to find the words that would not imbue Angel with a false hope, "I was hoping that you would join me?"

Slowly, Angel lifted his eyes to meet Buffy's and they exchanged a lingering glance. It was clear that neither of them expected too much of this first meeting, and yet both were almost physically aching for the promise of more. Clearing his throat a little self consciously, Angel tentatively interlinked the little finger of his left hand with Buffy's. Glancing at their laced hands, Angel was surprised but thrilled to note the diamond engagement band still in place. His heart thrummed a little faster, spurred on for the moment by hope.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Angel pressed, his expression belaying that he would understand and accept any answer that Buffy chose to offer him. It was clear to Buffy that Angel was prepared to allow her to call all the shots; a fact which served only to renew the guilt gnawing at her conscience. She knew that the time would inevitably come when her absence demanded explanation, but she was willing for the moment at least to delay that particular conversation and simply bask in the warmth of the home she had missed. Buffy knew there were many bridges to be mended but it seemed not nearly enough time to do it in.

"I'm not making any promises," Buffy whispered, propping one elbow on the table and resting her forehead in her palm, "but I'm just so tired, Angel… I can't…"

"Later then," Angel promised. Buffy nodded and attempted unsuccessfully to stifle the yawn that burst from her pursed lips.

Exchanging weary smiles that were tinged now with optimism, the couple rose to their feet and Angel led Buffy gently upstairs by the hand to the bed that he had occupied alone for almost three seemingly unending months. No more than ten minutes later, both lay in the most peaceful slumber they had managed to procure in as long as could be recalled.

Hands still tenderly interlaced and heads inclined toward each other, Buffy and Angel simply slept; both fully clothed atop the still made bed- and both dreaming of the future they dared hope might be theirs.

**x-x-x**

Duke Farmer removed the uniform cap from his head and rubbed wearily at the bald spot that had devastated his crop of once magnificent golden hair. It had crept up upon him; one day he was busy enjoying the throes of his youth and the next he was middle-aged and balding, carrying a hefty paunch that provided endless amusement for his bitter shrew of a wife. Duke grumbled discontentedly under his breath and shot a glance at his wristwatch. He had sent the other fellow on his way little over fifteen minutes ago, deciding that he would much rather undertake the final sweep of the perimeter alone than endure anymore mundane prattle than was really necessary. Duke did not truly care for his co-worker, a tall and rugged young man with an inconceivably queer name, who would have been better suited to a career in the movies; however, Duke Farmer was not a people person and did not truly care for many. In fact, he had come to view even his grandbabies as trivial annoyances to be tolerated until the latest visit had ended.

Sweeping his gaze casually across the underground car park, which was empty save for his own battered Ford Chevy pick-up, Duke nodded in satisfaction. Turning on his heel, he moved with surprising fluidity back towards the elevators leading to the upper security office, where he could in mere moments hand over his shift to the day team. However, the sudden screeching sound of metal grating against metal forced Duke to a standstill. Less than a second later, the already dim overhead lighting flickered and then died. Duke stood in still silence for a while as he waited for the emergency generator to kick in, or for the problem to simply rectify itself. When neither eventuality occurred, he began searching his pocket for the flashlight he always carried. As Duke's clammy hand found purchase on the shaft of the torch, the terrible shrieking sound resounded once more. It almost sounded to Duke's ears as though something wicked were ripping through the tarmac.

Duke, a man not easily spooked, stood his ground and instead hefted the small flashlight in his hand as though preparing to use it as a weapon. Although an inexperienced fighter, Duke carried himself with the air of one who could undoubtedly hold his own.

"Who's there?" he barked gruffly, his tone remarkably calm and assertive. Thirty plus years in the security trade had served him well and Duke had not once encountered a situation that was above his handling. He was confident that today would prove no different.

Hearing no response, Duke shook his head and turned back towards the row of elevators. Before he had taken more than a step, the shrill screaming of his car alarm pierced the silence and Duke instinctively spun back towards the direction of the sound. As the headlights of the Chevy blinked furiously along to the rhythm of the alarm, they threw a shaft of light only momentarily across a hulking dark figure that darted across Duke's peripheral line of vision. Suddenly unnerved, Duke reached for the can of pepper spray that hung from his belt, and battled to control the frantic pounding of his heart. Suddenly, he found himself wishing that he favoured a nightstick like his young colleague.

"Who is it?" Duke demanded, his vice rising an octave as fear began to creep beneath his composure. "You damned kids. When will you learn. This is trespassing, you know."

Duke's blood ran cold as somewhere to the left, the distinct sound of growling arose. Flinging the useless flashlight aside, Duke broke into a run. His feet pounded heavily against the tarmac as he propelled his body towards the flight of stairs that usually he avoided like the plague. Now, with his hand reaching desperately towards the doorknob, and with the animal hot on his heels, Duke longed to reach that goddamn staircase. It was as his fingertips brushed the cool metal of the handle that Duke was lifted clear off his feet. He emitted a strangled scream as talons pierced first the fabric of his shirt and then the meaty flesh of his shoulders. Blood pooled rapidly from the wounds and began trickling down his forearms, causing the monster or whatever it was to growl as its hunger was renewed. Duke kicked his legs and thrashed furiously, dangling almost eight feet off the floor like a fish caught on a line. He attempted to cry out once again but fear prevented little more than a strangled squeak escaping his lips. He was sure that whatever held him must be as big as a grizzly and twice as mean.

Tears welled in his eyes and in his desperation Duke kicked out at his attacker. There was a startled yelp and then Duke's body was tumbling heavily to the ground. He landed hard on his shoulder, grunting with the pain of impact, but barely had time to roll onto his back before the creature lunged. Then, razor sharp talons were tearing through Duke's flesh as though it were butter, cutting deep and ragged tracks across his throat, stomach and arms where he raised them in protection. Duke Farmer died in mere moments with a scream upon his lips and terror in his heart.

Several hours later, after he had failed to return home to his irate wife, the security day staff at Sunnydale mall launched a search for Duke. His body was discovered some time later underneath his beloved Chevrolet truck, his arms locked across his chest and his mouth frozen wide open in horror. There was not a single scratch to be found on Duke Farmer, for which his wife Laura was grateful since she found open-casket funerals a far more tasteful state of affairs.

The coroner would later conclude that Duke had died of a massive heart attack, no doubt brought on by a combination of high cholesterol and a stressful working environment. Although it would forever remain a mystery to Duke's family and drinking buds just exactly how he had come to lie underneath that old truck, their consideration of such a thing was short-lived. His death was reported in the local press and discussed briefly by his former work colleagues but little of truth or consequence was ever expressed.

Inevitably, the staff of Sunnydale mall moved onto more pressing issues; such as how best to repair the long, deep cracks that had inexplicably formed on the tarmac of the third story car park the very day that sour old Duke Farmer had been claimed by his bum ticker.


	42. Chapter 42

_**The Swing of Things - XLII**_

'_Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to,_

_with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.'_

_- Marcus Aurelius_

_**Two weeks later…**_

They walked in a silence that still seemed to be so far from companionable, and yet Buffy found that she had enjoyed Dawn's company that day nonetheless. Of course, there was still a way to go before their relationship could be described as completely repaired but they were throwing themselves into the effort with undeniable gusto. Arm in arm, the Summers sisters strolled through the streets of Sunnydale following an impromptu shopping spree that Angel had largely but unknowingly funded. Buffy had felt more than a little guilty in procuring his bank card from his wallet whilst he was still sleeping off the nightshift, but she reminded herself that such bonding exercises with Dawn were essential for the cultivation of their relationship. However, she had kept her spending to a minimum and then rounded off the outing by springing for lunch at the Espresso Pump.

Although Buffy had suggested the trip mainly for the benefit of Dawn, whose current wardrobe was straining against her swelling waistline, it was Buffy herself who carried the majority of the plunder. Five expensive looking monogrammed bags dangled from her free arm and Buffy smiled somewhat wickedly as she imagined the expression of horror on Angel's face as he spied them. In truth, Buffy had bought so few items that the bags were wholly unnecessary but she had been unable to resist the opportunity to tease Angel just a little. Her purchases consisted of nothing more than a purse, a few bottles of nail polish, a scarf and a neon scrunchie bought purely for nostalgic value. Meanwhile, Dawn had succumbed to her need for a pair of maternity jeans but had determinedly refused to sport any of the florally offensive shirts they had unearthed at Sunnydale's one stockist of clothing for the mother-to-be.

Dawn had entered the store like a woman on death row, her head bowed low so that her hair formed an obscuring curtain in front of her face. Buffy assumed that she was afraid of her high school peers spotting her during the usual rush of Saturday morning shoppers. Teen pregnancy, whilst not unheard of, was still a rarity in Sunnydale and Dawn was one of only two girls in her entire grade to be among the unfortunate statistic this year. The majority of Dawn's classmates had been indifferent to her situation but there were those who had seized upon the opportunity to victimise one of the supposedly smartest girls in school. Whilst Buffy had longed to intervene and squash the taunting before the semester was out, she knew that her interference would do nothing more than add fuel to the fire. And so reluctantly she instructed Dawn to ignore the cruel barbs and the missiles thrown slyly across the classroom, and instead focused on being as supportive as she could once the school day had ended. Often she resorted to trays of chocolate brownies and warm milk but she was certain that these too would become useless tools of comfort once news of Dawn's pregnancy had circulated wider.

Linking Dawn's arm, Buffy had quickly pushed through the doorway of the store and guided her sister towards the back, where she began picking through rows of clothing almost immediately. Dawn had hovered awkwardly at her sister's elbow, kicking at the carpet with the toe of her sneaker and looking increasingly uncomfortable as Buffy scrutinised one item after another. Finally, as Buffy held a pink polka dotted t-shirt up to Dawn's torso, the tears began to fall unchecked. The assistant who had been on her way over to the women with a painfully fixed smile in place beat a hasty retreat to the cash desk, suddenly remembering the counter display that was in dire need of rearrangement.

"I know those aren't tears of retail joy," Buffy had said gently as she plucked a clean tissue from her pocket and offered it to Dawn. "What gives, sweetie?"

Dawn dabbed at her eyes and offered Buffy a forced smile. She shrugged and blew her nose on the already sodden tissue.

"It's just…" Dawn faltered, shaking her head miserably and sniffling as fresh tears sprung to her eyes. She reached out and ran the tip of her finger along the sleeve of a silver silk shirt that appeared large and shapeless enough to comfortably swathe an elephant.

"I know," Buffy interjected with haste, rubbing Dawn's arm in a soothing manner and discarding the hanger she held for the moment. She peered tentatively into Dawn's eyes as she spoke, "This must be kinda overwhelming. I know that you didn't ask for any of this and that if you had known what would happen… well, then your choices would have been a little different. But you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of…"

"I know that," Dawn interrupted with an edge of impatience creeping into her voice. Buffy blinked in surprise at the abruptness of her sister's tone and folded her arms across her chest in displeasure.

"So?" Buffy probed, simultaneously raising both eyebrows. Dawn peered back at her sister, her bottom lip quivering, and wrung the tissue out in both hands.

"It's just… it's just…" Dawn began, her voice wobbling in warning of an impending outpouring of emotion, "everything's so ugly."

Buffy had stood in stunned silence, observing her sister as the tears cascaded down her cheeks and noisy sobs escaping her heaving chest. The store assistant finally ducked into the stock room with a magazine tucked artfully under her arm and a telltale packet of cigarettes poking out of her blouse pocket. Buffy glanced down at the offending racks of pastel chiffon, t-shirts with oversized bows affixed to the chest, and stretch pants that seemed to come in every colour of the rainbow. Buffy swallowed a sneer of disgust and wondered how she would be reacting to the proposition of committing such crimes against fashion if she were in Dawn's position.

"It's not… that bad," she attempted, patting Dawn's arm in a consoling fashion and desperately sweeping the racks with her gaze for at least one garment that did not invoke a mental cringe. Grabbing the nearest hanger, Buffy held aloft a baby pink t-shirt with a trimming of lace around the hem.

"This isn't so terrible," she enthused, grimacing as Dawn hiccupped in place of a sob.

Holding her sister gently by both wrists, Buffy peered up into her tear streaked face.

"Now you listen here missy," she began in a sharp tone that seemed to sober Dawn for the moment, "ok, maybe pre-natal fashion is a little…"

"Hideous," Dawn interrupted sulkily, determined not to be placated. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Buffy shook her head and continued.

"I was going to say… 'dated'… but that's really besides the point. You know the drill here by now, Dawn; you're going to get big and uncomfortable and possibly even stretch marks…"

"And this is helping how?" Dawn yelped, her eyes widening at Buffy's apparent lack of compassion and tact.

"My point is that you know your body is going to change and you're going to have to adapt to those changes," Buffy recovered, "it's unavoidable and it may not always be fun or easy but you know what? That is the choice you made. And it's going to be worth it because when this is all over you're going to have the most beautiful little baby in your arms."

Therein had seemed to be the turning point of the day. It was almost as though Buffy's acceptance of the situation had newly dawned upon them both and as a consequence the Summer's sisters were able to relax a little more in each other's presence. The rest of the afternoon had passed quickly and with glimpses of the familiar banter they had always shared. As they walked home in the glorious afternoon sunshine, swinging their shopping bags and giggling girlishly, Buffy could not help the almost manic smile of content that found its way across her lips with ease.

It had come as a pleasant surprise to Buffy just how readily her return to Sunnydale had been accepted by the gang. Whilst Willow had opted to keep her room at the university, she had made an effort to drop by at least every few days to see how Buffy was adjusting, and even Xander had begun to come round to the idea of revisiting the Summers' home. His stays were more brief than Buffy was accustomed to and often consisted only of a ten minute cup of coffee, but she was careful to remind herself that Xander too was struggling to adjust to many recent changes. Willow had informed them all that Xander had joined a local grief counselling group in order to help him cope better with his anger and resentment at Anya's death, and for the most part the changes in his demeanour seemed apparent. However, Buffy had been careful to ensure that none of Xander's visits had as of yet coincided with Spike's presence in the house. Buffy had felt that she had little choice in the matter of allowing the demon with a soul into her home given his strong desire to do right by her sister, but she was still far from at ease in his company. Spike seemed more than aware of this fact and, eager to be accepted by the Scoobies once again, had kept his behaviour to exemplary standards.

Predictably, Buffy's relationship with Giles appeared unchanged, and the former Watcher had wasted little time in throwing himself into the task of helping Buffy find suitable employment. The several glowing recommendations he had penned to date on Buffy's behalf had brought tears to her eyes but as of yet failed to secure her a job.

Despite this, Buffy had yet to explain to Giles or anyone for that matter where her absence had taken her, or indeed what she had discovered there. The gang seemed content for the moment to allow her this privacy in the hope that she may volunteer some information in her own time. Buffy herself was unsure of exactly how much of the knowledge she had gleaned that she wished to share with her friends, but she knew that she owed them some morsels at the very least.

As Buffy had expected, it was her relationship with both Dawn and Angel that had suffered most as a consequence of her leaving town. Whilst Dawn seemed to have dissolved into a downward spiral of guilt, Angel now appeared for the most part to be unsure of how to relate to his fiancée. Some days saw him hovering tentatively in the background of whatever activity Buffy was engaged in, too afraid to speak to her lest he prove to be an irritation, while others saw him so intent upon allowing her some space that he barely spoke two words to her for the entirety of the day. Due to his nightly shift work Buffy had resumed her patrolling alone, occasionally accompanied by Willow or Giles, and so the couple had been afforded little time together in the past fortnight. Dwelling on this fact had only succeeded in darkening Buffy's features with a frown and, noting this, Dawn slowed her pace just a fraction.

"If I could spare a penny for your thoughts I would but I just spent my last dollar on sugar free gum," quipped Dawn, offering the unopened packet to Buffy and smiling hopefully. Buffy returned the smile before slipping the sunglasses she had been sporting on the crown of her head over her eyes. Her blonde waves immediately tumbled forward, framing her face like a halo.

"Just thinking about Angel," Buffy answered, punctuating her revelation with a sigh. "And how I messed up and now have absolutely no clue how to fix '_us'_."

"So there is still an '_us'_?" Dawn queried, screwing her face up in confusion as she added, "I mean a '_you'_."

Buffy nodded, although the gesture seemed somewhat reluctant to Dawn.

"I definitely want there to be and I think Angel does too…" she began, stopping in her tracks and glaring at her sister as Dawn let out a snort.

"Oh please, Buffy," Dawn giggled, twirling a strand of hair around her index finger as she continued walking, "the sexual tension between you guys is-"

"Ok, enough," Buffy commanded with a wince, "I've barely accepted the fact that my baby sister is having sex… I don't need to hear her like talking about it and stuff. It's… wrong."

Dawn rolled her eyes and moved her fingers across her mouth in a zipping motion that Buffy observed with a satisfied nod.

"Ok, so here's the thing," Buffy began, taking a deep breath and beginning to trail after Dawn, "I just want things between us to be the way they were before I found out about Connor. But I know that's impossible. He's Angel's son and he should be a huge part of his life…"

"But he's not," Dawn interjected, quickly miming the zipping motion once more as she received a glare from Buffy.

"He's not. But that doesn't change the way I feel about Angel keeping his existence from me. A kid is like a major part of your life…" Buffy said quietly, her gaze trained to the ground, "I just don't see why he felt that he couldn't tell me. It kind of feels like he didn't trust me enough."

The sister's walked on in silence for a few more minutes, both seemingly lost in thought. Somewhere in the distance a dog yapped before giving chase to a nearby cat, and Buffy visibly started.

"So you've never kept anything from someone before?" Dawn asked softly, her head bowed as she struggled to refrain from meeting Buffy's gaze. "Something important… something that could change their lives and the way they think about you… something that could erase them completely from your existence in less than a second."

"You know that I have," Buffy croaked, swallowing the uncomfortable lump that arose in her throat as her thoughts drifted to the very reason that Angel was still able to walk the earth. She held perhaps the biggest secret of them all; one that if discovered could succeed in turning every last one of her friends and family away from her. And yet she continued to punish Angel for his mistake, his one untruth that in the light of her own lies seemed so human and inconsequential.

"People don't always lie because they're bad or they want to hurt you," Dawn said, glancing at Buffy and squeezing her arm supportively.

"I know," Buffy replied, leaning closer into Dawn's side and resting her head against her sister's shoulder.

"Most of the time, we do it because we don't want to hurt the ones we love," Dawn finished, gently pressing her cheek against the golden crown of Buffy's head. "I guess that's why Angel felt he had to lie to you. He didn't want to hurt you with information he thought you would probably never need to know… and he didn't want Connor to be hurt by the wrong people knowing."

Buffy nodded and fell easily back into her silence. She knew that Dawn's explanations for Angel's behaviour were undoubtedly correct and, although she had tried to accept this, she still struggled to breach the wall that had arisen between them. Even as they lay side by side in bed at night and Buffy longed to reach out across the darkness, there was some invisible and impenetrable force that stopped her from doing so. Now Buffy wondered if the demon she fought against was that of her own guilt.

"You're right," Buffy breathed finally, realising that she had yet to respond to Dawn. "I've known that for a while now I think. I guess it's one of the reasons I came back when I did."

"I didn't think you would," Dawn murmured quietly, her eyes trained on the distance in a telling fashion. "Come back, I mean."

"I know," Buffy replied, blushing as a fresh wave of guilt washed over her. "I'm sorry."

"Just…" Dawn trailed off, clearly struggling to find adequate words, "just talk to him."

"Sounds so simple in theory," Buffy chuckled, her eyes widening as she mentally recounted the hundred or so conversations that she had attempted with Angel over the weeks. Most ended in a silence that was so cold and heavy she needed a sweater to endure it.

"It's easier than you think," Dawn replied, her smile knowing and slightly amused. Buffy realised with surprise that they had arrived at their own front door now and Dawn was fishing in her pocket for her keys. As she located the key and raised it to the lock, Buffy rested a gently restraining hand on Dawn's forearm. Dawn paused and glanced at Buffy, chewing on her bottom lip as she clearly worried over the nature of their impending exchange.

"I just wanted to say thanks for today," said Buffy, her own smile growing as Dawn flushed in pleasure,

"Me too. I mean, I had a blast," Dawn enthused, gesturing to her solitary bag as she added, "and now I can finally quit holding my pants together with a hair band."

Buffy chuckled and squeezed Dawn's arm in a gently affectionate gesture, "I had a great time too, and you helped me gain a little lost perspective."

Dawn's mouth dropped open in questioning wonder but, before she could begin to speak again, Buffy leaned forward and planted a tender kiss on her sister's forehead. Dawn, beaming more brightly now, pushed open the front door and ducked inside with all manner of questions forgotten.

It was only then that Buffy allowed the smile to ebb from her lips and with a wistful sigh she reached up in order to caress the familiar old silver cross that dangled from her neck; she truly knew now what she had to do.


	43. Chapter 43

_**A. N. - The text written in bold is a previously unseen flashback sequence that took place during Chapter 26. **_

_**The Confession - XLIII**_

'_**Oh the world its spinning now**_

_**Its trying to catch me up**_

_**Tell me to appreciate here and now.**_

_**I'm sorry but I meant to say**_

_**Many things along the way,**_

_**This one's for you…'**_

_Ache by James Carrington_

Buffy watched him from the doorway for a while, marvelling in silence at the ripples threading across his biceps as, with a grunt, Angel dipped his body almost to the floor. Buffy was envious of the lack of effort required for him to then straighten his arms and thus end the sequence of a hundred press-ups that he undertook religiously upon waking. Now that he was once again human, Angel appeared dedicated to taking care of his body and physique. He spent time most evenings at the gym and had recently begun sparring with Buffy again at weekends, much to a rather battered Giles' relief. In reality, Angel quite enjoyed the physical exertion that also served to keep his mind from wandering into the treacherous territory that had become contemplating his relationship.

The extra exercise also helped to burn off the surplus calories that Angel found himself helpless to resist consuming now that he was once more possessing of human taste-buds. His particular weakness was for anything containing copious amounts of both sugar and chocolate, which generally could not be described as a healthy combination. Buffy was a rather willing accomplice to his overindulgence; powerless herself to resist the cocoa bean and any food source it leant itself to. Whipped cream was also high on Angel's list of favourites, and he had been caught several times in the process of emptying a can into his mouth in order to enjoy the creamy melting sensation on his tongue.

As Angel leapt lightly to the balls of his feet and began his routine stretches, Buffy stepped into their bedroom clearing her throat. The room was still in darkness, the heavy drapes shut against the midday sunlight, but Buffy could see the beads of perspiration glistening as they trickled down Angel's bare chest toward his naval. He wore only a pair of sweatpants that clung to his lower body in all the right places, making Buffy uncomfortable and yet helplessly aroused at the same time. Licking her lips a little, Buffy turned her head away from Angel, who was now watching her expectantly.

"Hey," said Buffy, offering Angel a half smile that he returned instantly.

"Hey," Angel countered, wincing as he sensed yet another clipped conversation ensuing. "I was just about to shower and then grab some lunch before my shift if you…"

"Actually," Buffy interjected, taking a few rapid steps toward Angel, who appeared startled by her sudden proximity, "I was hoping we could talk."

Angel nodded and Buffy reached out to clasp his hand in her own. He was both stunned and delighted by the sensation of her skin against his own. Still transfixed by their entwined hands, Angel allowed himself to be led to the edge of the bed, where Buffy quickly settled.

"Is there something on your mind?" Angel inquired, his brow furrowing as he watched Buffy closely for any indication of what was about to come. He felt his heart rate accelerate as he contemplated the possibility that Buffy was leaving again. It was true that she had barely resumed her life in Sunnydale, and yet Angel could tell already that she was desperately unhappy; undeniably distant from those around her and wearing an expression that betrayed worry even as she slept. Angel had tried to do his part to ease Buffy's return, mostly by allowing her the space that he thought she craved, and yet no matter what he did Angel felt that he could not truly make amends.

"Actually there is," Buffy said in a rush, gripping the edge of the mattress with her free hand to steady herself. "I need to tell you some things and you probably won't understand them all because, to be honest, I don't think I even understand them myself."

"Buffy, slow down," Angel coaxed, cupping Buffy's chin and tilting her head towards him. He swallowed hard as he noted the unshed tears glistening in her eyes, however he remained as quiet and still as his trembling body would allow for. He swallowed his fear and granted Buffy his full attention. She seemed to stiffen under the weight of his gaze, and so Angel settled for instead staring at a spot on the wall somewhere above her head.

"Where do you want to start?" Angel pressed, stroking his thumb across Buffy's hand as he waited. She shuddered a little in delight at his touch but Angel attempted to keep his expression as impassive as possible, realising that whatever Buffy wished to say was clearly demanding effort on her part.

"Let's start with me… leaving…" Buffy managed to choke out, wincing as Angel suddenly whipped his gaze around to meet her own. "I need to tell you some stuff about where I went and what I found there."

"Ok," said Angel. He forced his shoulders to relax and ran his free hand through his bed tousled hair. He had known that this conversation would prove inevitable, but he had anticipated it with a heavy feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Angel could not help but wonder what exactly had engaged Buffy for so long in her almost three month absence, and he was unsure as to whether he truly wished to know.

"Where did you go?"

"Here, there… pretty much everywhere," Buffy quipped in an attempt to force a smile across her own lips. "I spent a little time in Florida, alas not visiting Mickey. Then I went onto Cleveland, then Portland… last stop Seattle."

Angel arched an eyebrow and let out a slow whistle, "Clocked up some miles, then."

"Really did," Buffy replied, grimacing at the memory of nights spent in one cheap motel after another fuelled by a diet of vending machine candies and little else.

"So were you looking for anything in particular?" Angel asked, the curiosity shining in his eyes evident. He leaned a little closer to Buffy and noted with relief that she did not draw back as was almost customary these days. Instead, she scooted across the bed in order to close the distance between their bodies.

"I was actually," Buffy said, her expression sobering. "An old Council source give me the names of some retired Watchers who may have been able to help with Dawn and the baby."

"Buffy, are you sure that was wise?" Angel began with trepidation. "The Council weren't exactly known for their trustworthiness. What if…?"

"Relax," Buffy interrupted, somewhat irritable, "I would never have followed those leads if I wasn't one hundred percent sure that Dawn would be safe."

"Of course, I'm sorry," Angel stammered, rubbing the nape of his neck with his palm, "the Council just kind of make me twitchy."

"Understood," Buffy answered with a more tolerant smile, "but these guys literally had one patent leather foot in the grave. Threat potential of zero."

"Did they have anything useful to say?" Angel pressed, his interest peaked. Buffy shrugged and frowned.

"To be honest, I had no clue then and I still don't have much of one now," she said, amusement causing the corners of her lips to twitch upwards in threat of a smile, "what with the overpowering stench of denture cleaner and being forced to watch re-runs of _Dark Shadows_, I think I may have repressed a lot."

"But some stuff at least was useful?" Angel demanded, his eyes sweeping Buffy's face.

"They couldn't tell me much beyond what we already knew," Buffy replied, suddenly all business again, "mostly that vampire babies are the stuff of hokey legend; there's nothing in any of the remaining Watcher's journals dating as far back as the twelfth century, blah blah biddy blah."

Angel nodded and his expression gave way to disappointment. Buffy hesitated, unsure as to how best to continue with her revelations.

"So I decided to pay a visit to the one person I knew would definitely shed some light on the situation," she said, her head cocked to one side as she watched Angel for signs of understanding. Slowly, his eyes widened and then a beat later his head bowed.

"Connor."

The reply was almost a grunt and definitely carried undertones of accusation. Buffy understood Angel's trepidation at the thought of his fiancée and son meeting for the first time, especially given both of their apparently violent tendencies.

"Yeah," said Buffy, her hand still desperately clutching Angel's. He allowed their bodies to remain connected and Buffy let out a sigh of relief.

"How… I mean… what… did you…" Angel faltered, his brow creasing in confusion as endless questions manifested in his mind before his mouth could hope to catch up. Buffy patted his hand gently and smiled, hoping the gesture would offer some reassurance.

"He's doing great. He's at college, has a lot of friends, and a part time job… and he even engages in a little demon slaying every now and then."

Angel glared at Buffy, his nostrils flaring at that new piece of information. Although slightly shocked by the fierce expression that momentarily crossed Angel's face, Buffy chuckled.

"He didn't think you'd be too happy about that one," she said, her eyes narrowing as she continued to stare at Angel.

"You talked to him?" Angel demanded, his mouth falling open. Buffy simply nodded.

"And…?" Angel pressed, now keen to hear Buffy's verdict on the son he had fought so hard to provide the best for. He was surprised to find that his stomach was churning, which was one human characteristic that he had not missed during his vampire days.

"You should be really proud," Buffy finished, her voice cracking a little. "He's a great kid. He's smart, funny, brave, strong, kind- he's just like his father."

Buffy and Angel stared at each other in silence for a moment and then, simultaneously moving towards each other, melted into an embrace. Buffy pressed her cheek against Angel's chest, barely caring that he was drenched in sweat and badly in need of a shower. She inhaled his scent deeply nonetheless and a tearful grin broke out across her face. Angel held onto Buffy's body tightly, preventing her from drawing away even if she so desired. Locked together, the couple sat for minutes simply revelling in the glorious touch of the other. After a while, Angel finally spoke, mumbling into the crown of Buffy's head.

"But what about the prophecy?" he asked, reluctantly pulling back but maintaining his gentle hold on the tops of Buffy's arms. She shook her head, her features clouded by confusion.

"I don't know," she replied chewing on her bottom lip, "but it's clear that Connor isn't a threat and I don't see why Dawn's baby should be any different."

"It does have Spike as a father," Angel joked darkly, one eyebrow arched. Buffy giggled and swiped at his arm. The blow she landed to his arm stung a little but Angel beamed back at his fiancée, thankful for the sudden breakthrough that had taken him completely by surprise.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see, but I doubt that Dawn or any of us are in danger from the baby. After all, Connor's almost completely human, right? And both of his parents were… well, you know. Maybe the prophecy is wrong or maybe it's something we'll just have to deal with a little later down the line."

As she finished speaking, Buffy traced her fingertip down the centre of Angel's chest, evoking a deep shudder from his body. The two exchanged a hungry look and, without a moments pause, Angel reached out toward Buffy. However, at the last second the Slayer danced just ever so slightly out of reach, focused for the moment on the task at hand despite the distraction of the pleasant tingling sensation that had begun to sweep upwards from her toes.

"Wait, Angel," she pleaded, resting her splayed palm on Angel's stomach to halt his advances, "there's more."

Angel sat back on his heels, clearly frustrated but willing to attempt patience nevertheless. They had failed to be close in that particular way since Buffy's return and any hint of the physical now becoming reality again was very welcome indeed to Angel's mind.

"There's something I've been keeping from you," Buffy whispered, her eyes suddenly clouding with shame and her chin dropping to her chest. "From all of you."

Concerned now by the dramatic shift in Buffy's mood and demeanour, Angel scooted closer and wrapped his arms around her. All traces of his prior intention had suddenly and abruptly dissipated, and instead Angel simply held Buffy into his own body until she had managed to stifle the quiet sobs that had begun.

"Buffy, whatever it is… I forgive you," Angel promised, his tone ringing with certainty. Buffy shuddered and extracted herself from his arms, all the while vehemently shaking her head.

"You can't say that," she seethed, "you can't know that until I tell you what it is."

"Then tell me," Angel urged, fighting against Buffy's resistance in order to raise her hand to his lips. He brushed her palm with a tender kiss before folding it in his lap between both of his own hands.

"It's… that day in L. A.," Buffy began, sniffing and swiping at the tears staining her cheeks, "when you were carried off through the gateway by that huge dog-thing… I tried to follow you… I needed to save you."

Angel nodded, remaining respectfully quiet to allow Buffy to continue her story.

"Oh Angel… I did something terrible…" Buffy hissed, clinging desperately now onto Angel's shoulders. Her face had paled significantly and Angel could feel her heart drumming at what should have been an impossible rate as she pressed herself against him, seeking the comfort that only he had ever been able to provide her with.

"Buffy, you're scaring me," Angel whispered, stroking her back soothingly, "please just tell me what it is. We'll get through it together… I promise."

"Someone's going to die, Angel," Buffy choked out, her haunted eyes seeming to bore into the depths of Angel's soul, "and it's going to be all my fault…"

**x-x-x**

"_**Tick tock, Slayer…" Lucy hissed. **_

"_**I can't do this," Buffy cried, unable to tear her gaze away from the belly of the hourglass as the grains of sand amounted there. **_

"_**Then don't," Lucy responded with a simple shrug of her bony shoulders. "I am more than happy to take Angel's soul as per our agreement. I merely thought I was doing you a kindness by offering you an… alternative arrangement."**_

"_**How can you expect me to trade one of my friends for the man I love?" demanded Buffy, her tone adopting a helplessness that she despised. Lucy only grinned.**_

"_**It does seem rather a lot of me to ask," the demon said, examining her nails in the most nonchalant of manners. Buffy gritted her teeth against her building fury, knowing that she was powerless to inflict any pain on the creature before her even if she should manage to escape the invisible bonds holding her fast to the bench. **_

"_**I've made my choice," Buffy snarled, whipping her head around in order to conceal her tears from the child. "I won't do it. Angel wouldn't want me to."**_

"_**That I do not doubt," Lucy countered, pausing to stoop and collect a rock that had been buffeted by the breeze to come to rest by the toe of her shoe. She gripped the small stone in the fingers of her left hand, all the while caressing it with the pad of her thumb, and then returned her attention to Buffy. Her expression was evidently bored. **_

"_**But you may wish to wait a while before making such a hasty decision," Lucy said, her nose wrinkling as her lips contorted into a smirk. "There are other factors to be considered."**_

"_**Other factors?" Buffy echoed, her voice sounding hollow and suddenly not so assured. "What other factors?"**_

"_**Well, Angel may be nothing more than vampire-Eunuch with shockingly poor dress sense…" the demon paused a moment to reflect upon her own wit before continuing, "but everyone in this world has a purpose, Buffy… even the monsters and demons you work so hard to murder."**_

_**Buffy chose to remain silent, her jaw set in a stubborn manner that itself declared her decision upon the matter. She would not be coerced into condemning one of her friends to eternal torment, and she was certain that nothing the creature before her could say would change that.**_

"_**So delightfully obstinate, Slayer," Lucy giggled, seeming genuinely delighted by something as she bounced on her toes for a few moments. Buffy blinked and before her eyelids had even fully reopened, Lucy was standing before her. **_

"_**Would you like me to show you, Buffy?" she inquired, her tone low and almost seductive now as she leaned closer to Buffy. The Slayer grunted, infuriated by the demon's body so close to her own, and strained uselessly against the magical ties that bound her. **_

_**Lucy turned her back on the Slayer and marched forward a few paces. When she paused, she threw her head back to the darkened sky and whipped around the hand that still contained the seemingly useless stone. The object hurtled towards the clouds as if fired from a canon and Buffy stiffened in her seat instantly, her nerve endings alight with apprehension. As the stone finally reached its destination, the sky appeared to fracture and an horrific rumbling sound drew Buffy's head somewhere towards her far right. Seeing no new threat upon the horizon, Buffy's gaze trailed back to Lucy, who had frozen to the spot as she watched the sky above them beginning to fall away in literal shards. Buffy screwed her eyes closed as a flash of what she presumed to be lightning near blinded her. Tiny white spots danced in front of her eyes for a few moments, obscuring her vision, and yet not preventing her from realising that the scene around them had now shifted.**_

_**Buffy gazed down at the ground in shock as she realised that the bench beneath her had vanished and she was inexplicably standing on her own two feet mere yards from Lucy. The landscape surrounding the pair was somehow familiar to Buffy, although she was almost certain that she had never before walked such desolate streets in her life. For a moment, she wondered if Lucy had returned them to L.A., but the startling lack of life-forms either human or otherwise alerted her that this was not the case. The street, obviously belonging to some town or other, was still, and although nothing seemed amiss from appearances it was clear to Buffy that something unnatural had occurred there. Every window and door remained intact and each shop front open in preparation for customers that were for some reason absent. Bicycles stood propped up against the walls of buildings and at the end of the wide street an ice cream van continued to play a series of jingles from its speakers. **_

"_**Where are we?" Buffy demanded, rotating her body in a full circle as she searched for some kind of life form. Not even a solitary bird was visible, despite the deceptive beauty of the crystalline sky overhead and the warmth of the midday sun.**_

"_**Erinbrook, California," Lucy answered, her small hand gripping the neck of a lamppost which she then began to swing around in a disturbingly childlike fashion. **_

"_**When are we?" Buffy asked, pointedly emphasising the first word in her sentence and succeeding in evoking an impish grin from Lucy. **_

"_**November 5**__**th**__**… 2015..." said Lucy, her eyes trained on Buffy's face but belaying nothing. The Slayer stiffened and turned to meet the demon's gaze, her fingers curling into fists at her side.**_

"_**What happens here?" she pressed, closing the distance between their bodies in less than three strides. Lucy peered up at the Slayer from wide eyes that did nothing to enhance her appearance of innocence. **_

"_**Why… the end, Buffy."**_

"_**The end of what?" the Slayer demanded, seizing the child by the shoulders as her instinct overpowered her reason. Finding no restraints to hold her back, Buffy shook the girl cruelly, her fingertips digging into the flesh of her arms. Lucy's responding laughter was almost hysterical and Buffy immediately relinquished her hold on the demon. Her entire body trembled as she once more surveyed the uninhabited street around her that rightly should have thrummed with life at this hour.**_

"_**The world," Lucy replied coldly, her eyes narrowing to barely visible slits and her tone bubbling with an undercurrent of hostility. "What began with a bang shall end with a whimper… or words to that effect."**_

"_**But why?" Buffy murmured, sinking to her knees on the ground as a sudden numbness overtook her. Lucy peered rather quizzically at the Slayer, who ran both hands through to the ends of her hair as she attempted to make sense of the absence of life around her.**_

"_**Everything looks so… normal…" Buffy mumbled, her head still turning to observe the street as though by some miracle her sheer will might make someone appear. "Where did all the people go?"**_

"_**Dead," Lucy answered without missing a beat. At Buffy's hostile glare the child simply chuckled and clapped her hands in amusement. **_

"_**Because of Angel?" Buffy concluded, realisation suddenly taking hold of her where it had failed before. Lucy nodded, unwilling for the moment to elaborate.**_

"_**All this- the end of the world- because Angel wasn't here to help stop it?" Buffy stated more than asked.**_

"_**Clever girl," Lucy crooned, her grin now quite wicked as her cheeks shone rosy with glee. "This is the world- or the future, at least- where Angel does not exist."**_

"_**I don't understand," Buffy faltered, placing both palms on the ground in order to test the reality of it. Her fingertips met solid tarmac and Buffy instantly recoiled. **_

"_**And you won't for some time," Lucy replied, growing bored now that Buffy's anger had yielded to defeat, "but one thing I can guarantee, Slayer; this is what will become of the world should you choose to ignore my very generous offer."**_

"_**I don't believe you," Buffy spat, rounding on the child with blazing eyes. An evident thrill coursed through Lucy's body as Buffy's rage was reignited. The demon's eyes flashed and Buffy realised at that moment that the creature was feeding from her own negativity. Buffy forced her heart to beat at a more steady and relaxed rhythm, and affixed Lucy with her most impassive of stares. **_

"_**Why would you give me the chance to save Angel and prevent the end of the world?" Buffy asked levelly, "you're evil. Surely you want to see the world end."**_

_**Lucy shrugged and kicked at the ground with the toe of her shoe, scuffing a layer of black polish in the process.**_

"_**True, suffering does please me greatly," Lucy retorted, "but even the misery of the entire world fails to fill me with the joy that would come with watching the most feared and reviled Slayer in history crumble." **_

"_**So… you're letting me save the world?" Buffy repeated, her tone uncertain and her furrowed brow betraying as much. Lucy sighed a little wistfully.**_

"_**There will be other apocalypses, I am sure… but this one…" Lucy executed an elegant pirouette, her grey skirt twirling as she did so, "this is one that Angel is key to preventing."**_

"_**How do I know this isn't some trick?" Buffy demanded, rubbing at her temples with her index fingers, "how do I know that as soon as we stop this apocalypse there won't be another the day after or the week after or the month after? How can I trust you?"**_

_**Lucy winked at Buffy, her previously pale face now flushed with pleasure as she watched the Slayer writhe in her predicament. **_

"_**You don't. But is it a chance you can really afford to take?"**_

**x-x-x**

Angel listened to the conclusion of Buffy's revelation in stunned silence. The story had poured from her lips at surprising speed, each individual word succeeding in chilling Angel to his core. He had often found himself wondering exactly why he had been spared at the last minute by Cerberus, the one beast that all myth and legend was united in declaring merciless. After a time, Angel had given up on this particular contemplation, deciding that it must have been some action on the part of the Powers That Be that had returned him to the earth once again, and restored the Shan-Su prophecy he had feared lost. Although this explanation lacked credence in so many respects, Angel had been unwilling to question his apparent luck further.

"Angel…" Buffy's broken voice hauled Angel from his reverie and he was forced to gaze down into her tear-stained face once more. The guilt and self-revulsion he saw there all but broke his heart; his heart that now was beating because of the selfless actions of the Slayer.

"I am so sorry," she whispered, making no move to wipe the mingling of tears and mascara from her face. "You must hate me and I can't blame you… I was going to let you go to Hell…"

"Buffy-" Angel attempted to interject but was silenced by Buffy once again.

"I don't even know who it will be or when it will happen or if there's anything I can do to stop it…" Buffy continued, her chest heaving as she struggled to prevent a further bout of sobbing. "It could be any of them… Giles… Dawn… Willow… I feel so guilty, seeing them every day and knowing what I've done…"

"Buffy-" Angel said, his tone a little more authoritative. Buffy continued regardless.

"And what if she… _it_… was lying to me?" Buffy cried, her sorrow renewed at the thought, "what if I thought I was saving the world and all I was really doing was being selfish because I _couldn't _let you go and that _thing _knew it?"

"Buffy!" Angel finally roared, bringing her tirade to an abrupt halt. Buffy blinked in evident surprise but fell obediently silent. Angel let out a sigh and rested his forehead gently against Buffy's. Pain, confusion and the fear of rejection were etched clearly across Buffy's face, and her eyelids flickered closed in a gesture of pure defeat. Angel reached up and brushed a damp tendril of hair from Buffy's cheeks, tucking it behind her ear whilst simultaneously brushing her cheek with a single kiss.

Softly, he murmured, "Buffy- I forgive you."


	44. Chapter 44

_**Real – XLIV**_

'_What we call reality is an agreement that people have arrived _

_at to make life more liveable' – Louise Nevelson_

_**Three weeks later...**_

It was almost as though the great invisible barrier that had separated them for so long had finally lifted. The mystery remained as to exactly what gesture or exchange had served as the balm to the sore; however, rather than question the sudden change in atmosphere, the Scoobies resolved to find relief in the fact that their friends were finally more than simply co-existing. The tension in the Summers' household had been near smothering since Buffy's return and yet, seemingly overnight, those unspoken issues appeared resolved.

The awkward silences across the dinner table, strained glances, and exchanges of far-too-formal pleasantries were long gone; in their wake was left a kind of honeymoon period that saw Buffy and Angel perhaps more blissfully content than ever before. Angel had taken to returning from work most days with flowers or some other romantic trinket, and the couple had even cleared time in their respective work and slaying schedules for a regular date night.

Willow, whilst simultaneously baffled and suspicious, was thrilled beyond all measure to see the reparations, which had begun at an astounding rate. Giles remained a little cool towards Angel but was undoubtedly pleased that he and Buffy had managed to work through their grievances without the usual need to resort to violence.

Dawn beamed with a kind of secret pride and her own mood also visibly lifted. She could not help but credit herself at least a little with having helped move the couple towards their reconciliation, but rather wisely she chose not to voice as much. Dawn had always believed that she had played a large part in Buffy's choice to leave Sunnydale, despite her sister's best efforts to convince her otherwise. For that reason alone Dawn simply watched with quiet relief as Buffy and Angel continued to rebuild the bond they had all feared shattered.

As always, Xander maintained an air of indifference towards the whole situation. The recent weeks had seen a noticeable pick-up in the frequency of his visits to the Summers' home but it was clear that there was still a ways to go before his own issues could be set aside. He chose to call only when he knew that Spike's absence was assured and, despite Dawn's own efforts to set him at ease, Xander remained uncomfortable in her presence. He found his eyes often wandering to her stomach, which protruded visibly now that she had entered her twenty-sixth week of pregnancy. Xander forced himself to suppress the shudders that threatened to take hold of him each time he witnessed the mound of Dawn's belly shifting.

The others had begun to approach the pregnancy with more understanding and even considerable excitement. They often could be found with their palms pressed eagerly to Dawn's stomach in the hopes of catching the latest flurry of movement. Even Buffy, once so devastated by the news of her sister's predicament, had hefted their old crib down from the attic and assembled it neatly at the foot of Dawn's bed. She had yet to reveal the beautiful old patchwork quilt that had served to swaddle not only she and Dawn in their infancy, but also their own mother. Buffy had resolved that after a thorough dry clean and a few minor repairs to the seams, the blanket would make the perfect new baby gift for her sister. She knew that this was what their mother would have wanted, and so in her free time she struggled to mend the intricate stitching where the decades had taken their toll.

It seemed that as the rest of the gang grew more comfortable with the situation, Xander's own fears only intensified. Willow had attempted to chalk his anxiety up to immaturity and his own disdain for the prospect of parenthood, but Xander suspected otherwise. Try as he may, he just could not shake the uneasy feeling that with this baby would come more trouble than any had anticipated.

In contrast, Buffy appeared to finally have regained most of her old assuredness in the weeks that had passed. To all that observed her, Buffy's mood was noticeably lighter and her passion for simply living reignited. She and Angel seemed to have slipped comfortably back into their infatuation with each other, but had mutually agreed that the wedding should be postponed until the months following the birth of Dawn's child. Whilst Dawn protested this decision guiltily, Buffy was resolved in its making.

At Buffy's request, Angel had kept all but snippets of the secrets she had shared with him as such. They had revealed together to the gang what little the former Watchers had offered and it had been almost unanimously decided that for the meantime the prophecy should be regarded as dubious at best. Like Xander, Giles remained concerned by the translations in the text and continued to search long into the wee hours of the morning for any information that might assuage his fears. Knowing the toll that this dedication was taking on his wellbeing, Buffy suggested to Spike that he should consider arranging an ante-natal appointment of a more fitting kind for Dawn. The unpredictable nature of the baby had made it impossible for Dawn to see a regular obstetrician, and so for the duration of her pregnancy she had remained medically uncared for. Both Spike and Buffy had made the extra effort to procure all manner of pre-natal vitamins and literature, but neither could give much insight into the wellbeing of either mother or child. The date for a routine sonogram to take place had long passed and this had proven to be of some concern to Dawn, who had yet to even hear her baby's heartbeat (should it indeed even possess one).

Spike had nodded his understanding at Buffy's request and returned the next evening with news of a kind of 'physician' who was willing to see Dawn. She had listened in silence to the assurances that Spike provided but her pursed lips and protectively crossed arms alerted them all to the fact that Dawn was less than impressed by the proposal.

"You want me to see some back alley witch doctor?" Dawn had demanded finally, her eyes narrowed in an accusatory manner at both Buffy and Spike. Angel chuckled from his position in the armchair but kept his nose buried in the local newspaper. Buffy perched at Angel's side and shot him a mildly disapproving look before returning her attention to Dawn.

"No, not a witch doctor," said Buffy patiently, glancing at Spike for support. The vampire grinned and nodded with enthusiasm before seating himself at Dawn's side on the couch.

"A shaman..." he explained, "completely different kettle of fish and all that."

Spike reached out one splayed palm to Dawn's belly with a broad grin, which faded rapidly as she slapped his hand away before it could make contact with her body. Dawn shifted in her seat in order to affix Spike with a look of unbridled fury.

"No way," Dawn replied, shaking her head as an incredulous expression contorted her features. "How do you even know that this guy is..."

"Safe?" Spike finished, arching one blonde eyebrow in Dawn's direction. "You think I'd risk you and the ankle biter?"

"Not intentionally, no," Dawn replied snippily, "but I'm not exactly filled with confidence at the thought of letting a shaman poke and prod at my baby."

"There will be no prodding or poking of any kind," Spike promised, holding both hands up in front of his body, "cross my heart, love. You'll see."

"I haven't agreed to go yet," said Dawn sulkily, folding her hands in her lap and twisting away from Spike. The vampire sighed and leaned towards the girl, gently inclining her face back to his own by cupping her chin with his fingers. Dawn reluctantly met Spike's gaze, her lips drawn into a pout that clearly conveyed her feelings on the issue.

"Dawn, love," Spike began, his voice dropping to a low and comforting purr, "this is our chance to prove to everyone once and for all that there is nothing to worry about here. I know it's just eating you up inside that we don't know the first thing about this baby... and now you're turning down our only chance to get to know him?"

"Or her," Dawn shot back automatically in a mumble. Her brow furrowed and her gaze dropped to her lap as she contemplated Spike's words for a few moments more. Finally, after a lengthy pause, she released a sigh and sagged back against the cushions of the couch.

Buffy had been more than a little relieved by Dawn's decision to attend the appointment but, the following evening, as they stood in front of the evidently derelict warehouse she had begun to question her own sanity at having ever trusted Spike with such a task. The building was made entirely from corrugated iron and the tiled roof was plagued in at least several places by holes large enough for an adult to crawl through. Graffiti was daubed on almost every inch of the outer wall and each window was covered by a thick sheet of wood. The entire area surrounding the building appeared to have been deserted for a number of years, such was the state of disrepair it had fallen into. Buffy and Dawn stood arm in arm before the iron monster, each wearing identical expressions of horror as they processed the scene before them. Only Spike stood at ease, his smile wide and excited, and both hands shoved into the pockets of his leather coat. He rocked back and forth on his heels like a child at the door of a candy store.

"You have got to be kidding," Buffy finally spoke, shattering the uncomfortable silence that had descended since their arrival at the address Spike had produced.

"I'm not going in there," Dawn snarled, rounding on Spike and punching him viciously in the top of his arm without warning. The vampire blinked in surprise and rubbed at the mild stinging sensation, his expression wounded.

"It's not what it looks like, ok?" said Spike, taking a rapid step backwards as a measure for his own safety. Both Buffy and Dawn glared at him murderously, their eyes narrowed. Spike swallowed and gestured towards the building.

"Look, can we please just go inside and..."

"Absolutely not!" Buffy snapped, shaking her head incredulously at Spike's display of greater than usual idiocy. "Aside from the obvious fact that we have no idea what the hell is even lurking in there, I'm afraid I'm going to catch tetanus from just standing on the sidewalk."

"Who told you about this place?" demanded Dawn. Her eyes searched the perimeter of the building for any signs of life but beyond the odd rodent she could locate none. Spike ducked his head a little sheepishly and offered the women a smile that he hoped was beguiling at very least.

"A customer," he muttered, kicking at the ground with the toe of one scuffed boot. Dawn emitted a yelp that startled both Buffy and Spike.

"You actually listened to one of those low life demonic scumbags from _Willy's_?" Dawn yelled, her eyes now blazing and her entire body trembling in a demonstration of her fury.

"_Willy's_?" Buffy repeated in a puzzled tone. She shot Spike a bemused look.

"I work there," Spike grunted, thankful that his ability to blush was long redundant. Buffy's eyebrows immediately shot up and she stared at Spike for several seconds before suddenly dissolving into laughter.

"You work there?" she spluttered, bending over and clutching her knees for support, "for Willy the snitch?"

"I work the bar and sweep up a few evenings a week, alright, Slayer?" Spike growled, removing a cigarette from behind his ear and striking a match off the sole of his boot. As he cupped his hand around the end of the cigarette and drew the flame towards it, Dawn pointedly cleared her throat. Spike allowed the match to fall to the floor where it extinguished itself. He tucked the cigarette behind his ear once again and glared moodily at Dawn.

It took Buffy a few moments more to recover but after she had finally straightened up and regained control of herself, she gestured towards the door of the building.

"Look, I'll go in first, check the place out, and if it seems legit then you guys can follow?" Buffy suggested, desperately attempting to thwart the grin that tugged at the corners of her lips. She was careful to avoid Spike's gaze but from the vampire's responding grunt could tell that he was now less than enthused.

"Whatever," was Dawn's sullen response. She folded her arms and continued to stare at the building, the structural integrity of which Buffy was seriously questioning as she approached the entrance. The main door itself seemed mercifully to be both in tact and functioning, and Buffy wasted no time in wrenching it open with Slayer strength. There was a loud metallic screech and a cloud of dust was instantly thrown up into the air, momentarily obscuring Buffy's vision. Buffy cupped one hand over her nose and mouth and, squinting, stepped inside the darkened warehouse. Every inch of her body was tensed, each muscle poised like a coiled spring in preparation for an attack that never came. Instead, as Buffy moved several more paces towards the centre of the warehouse, she felt the atmosphere around her begin to shift. The sensation this brought was not unpleasant but rather dizzying, and Buffy instinctively reached out a hand, forgetting for the moment that the building she stood in was by all accounts empty.

Buffy's mouth dropped open a little in surprise as her hand met a very definitely solid surface that felt cool beneath her skin. After several seconds of rapid blinking, the Slayer's vision began to clear and she was met with the sight of an enormous marble desk behind which sat a smiling woman. Buffy glanced to her side quickly as the air rippled once more and into the lobby stepped Spike holding a rather stunned Dawn by the arm.

"I thought you guys were going to wait for my signal?" Buffy hissed, flashing the plump, middle-aged receptionist a smile. Spike merely shrugged and turned to observe Dawn, who was staring with wide eyes at her suddenly pristine and very clinical surroundings.

"See, didn't I tell you, love?" Spike said, his grin now returning, "all above board. Just an illusion to deter the undesirables."

Dawn nodded dumbly, her gaze falling upon the receptionist, who was still beaming in welcome at the three new arrivals. She wore a crisp white smock complete with matching cap that hinted strongly at the professionalism of the establishment. A landscape calendar hung on the wall behind the woman just to the right of a large metal filing cabinet marked 'records', and a cordless phone complete with a fax machine stood at the end of the desk. The woman drummed her fingernails upon a stack of papers before her, which Dawn presumed to be the appointments log since she could see no evidence of a computer nearby. Her suspicions were confirmed as Spike stepped forwards, mumbled Dawn's name, and the receptionist immediately turned her attention to the top paper.

"The vampire baby," the woman chuckled seemingly to herself as she crossed a line through Dawn's name with pencil. She looked back at the group, blinking with what appeared to be two sets of eyelids, before gesturing to a collection of plastic seats that stood in a square in the corner of the room. A notice-board adorned with photographs of smiling demons and various medical pamphlets was affixed to the wall on one side of the waiting room, whilst a large oak door dominated the wall on the other.

"Dr. Kalkirasch will be with you shortly," she said, her smile pleasant enough as she eyed Dawn with curiosity. Dawn peered down at her feet and shuffled over to the waiting area where three demons of varying shape, size and hue were already gathered. Some flipped through magazines in evident boredom whilst another played with a cell phone in between shooting glances at the wall clock. Dawn took in the coffee table spread with a selection of paperback romance novels, the water cooler bubbling away in an adjacent corner, and the rubber potted trees that stood in a line behind one row of seats. Everything seemed so comically human that Dawn felt the sudden urge to giggle hysterically rise up within her. She coughed a few times to sober herself and selected a chair that was as far away as possible from the waiting room's other occupants.

On the floor in the centre of the seating area, a little girl with a pair of wicked looking horns sat cross legged. Her green eyes were trained on a fashion doll that floated a foot off the ground before her. Dawn noted that the girl appeared to be immersed in conversation with her dolly, and was highly relieved to note that the doll appeared not to be responding. The demon child wore a pink silk party dress and her brown hair was woven into a tight plait that stretched down her back and passed her elbows. Sensing eyes upon her, the little girl turned to peer at Dawn and grinned, waving once before her attention wandered back to her game.

"This is all kinds of freaky," Dawn muttered, jamming her hands into the pocket of her light jacket and leaning closer into Spike as he lowered himself into the chair by her side. He reached out and patted Dawn's knee, his smile reassuring and more than a little excited.

"Well, at least it's clean," Buffy attempted as she peered down into the gleaming tiled floor upon which she could literally see her own reflection. The whole room reeked of a stench that was not unlike ammonia and which someone, presumably the merry receptionist, had tried to mask by affixing an automatic air freshener to the ceiling.

"Not really reassuring," Dawn griped, rolling her eyes as her sister simply shrugged.

They waited in the office for some time without the arrival of any further patients occurring. However, every ten or so minutes, the heavy looking oak door would swing open and one of the already waiting demons would disappear inside the darkened room at a prompting glance from the receptionist. None re-emerged; a fact that did not go unnoticed by the trio. Eventually, after no more than an hour had elapsed, Buffy, Spike and Dawn sat alone in the waiting area.

The receptionist's soft but tuneless humming did little to calm their nerves, and whilst Buffy sat drumming her fingernails on the coffee table Dawn chewed relentlessly on her own. Finally, the door rattled and then creaked open. Simultaneously, Buffy, Spike and Dawn all turned to stare at the entrance whilst waiting for the signal they knew would come. The receptionist cleared her throat once and the three practically sprang to their feet.

Dawn was first to move towards the doorway and as she passed by Buffy seized her hand to hold tightly in her own. Dawn's smile was grateful but her expression still strained as she continued to walk towards the unseen room. Spike brought up the rear of the party, his hands balled into fists at his side, although Buffy was unsure as to whether this was in preparation for a fight or simply nerves due to the nature of their visit.

Dawn released an audible sigh of relief as they stepped into the doctor's office. The door swung shut behind them with a loud thunk but Dawn was far too immersed in examining the interior of the office to really notice. The room looked the same as one would expect any other doctor's office to look. A wooden desk stood at one side of the room surrounded by three more chairs; the walls were lined with anatomy posters and non-descript floral prints; whilst in the centre of the room was a reclining chair with various pieces of machinery situated either side. Dawn did not notice the small olive-skinned man waiting patiently in the corner of the room until he stepped forwards and thrust one hand almost under her nose.

"Miss. Summers I presume?" he questioned in a thick middle-eastern accent, his bushy black eyebrows raised so high that they were almost now sitting either side of his creased forehead.

Dawn nodded wordlessly and found herself the next minute embroiled in an overtly enthusiastic handshake. The doctor, who stood almost a foot shorter than Buffy, beamed up at the group and rubbed the bald crown of his head with one hand.

"I am very excited to meet you," Dr. Kalkirasch cooed, his almost ebony coloured eyes creasing at the corners as his smile grew only wider. Dawn felt her body begin to relax, oddly comforted by this genuine if not peculiar little man.

"A vampire baby is indeed something I have heard of only in the legends of my own people," he continued, his gaze falling to Dawn's stomach which was partially concealed by her jacket, "but I am most honoured that you have chosen me to care for you and your child at this important time."

"Well, it's kind of tough to go elsewhere when we're not exactly sure which one of us the nipper takes after, if you catch my drift, doc?" Spike replied, peering askance at the doctor as he emitted a high-pitched and childlike giggle. Dr. Kalkirasch clapped his hands together in delight and nodded, his tiny dark head bobbing frantically on his shoulders.

"Of course, of course," he said, turning to Dawn and grasping her hand between his own two. "If you would be so kind as to make yourself comfortable then we will begin the exam."

Dawn hesitated, inhaling deeply as she looked from the doctor to her sister and back again.

"What exactly will this 'exam' entail?" Buffy questioned in a gentle tone, for she herself had already grown fond of the animated little man before them. Dr. Kalkirasch slapped one palm to his forehead and grimaced.

"Very rude of me," he apologised, flashing another brilliant smile at Dawn, who he continued to usher towards the chair. "Very simple, completely painless, and everything you wish to know about your baby, you shall."

Dawn hopped up onto the chair and reluctantly settled herself back against it, all the while chewing on her bottom lip. Spike was at her side in an instant, his hand searching out hers and clasping it tenderly to his chest once he had found it. The couple exchanged nervous smiles and Buffy settled herself into one of the nearby chairs, suddenly feeling more of a third wheel than a pillar of support.

"Is Mommy ready?" Dr. Kalkirasch queried, arranging himself at the opposing side of the chair and glancing down at Dawn for confirmation. Inhaling deeply, she nodded.

Dr. Kalkirasch rubbed both hands together before placing them around an inch above Dawn's midriff. His eyelids fluttered closed and a moment later his head lolled forwards as though he had entered some form of trance. Both Spike and Dawn stared at the doctor, who had yet to even make contact with his patient's body but nonetheless appeared to be engaged in some sort of examination. His hands stroked the air above Dawn, who seemed now to genuinely relax against the soft padded chair. The exam continued for several minutes, for which the room remained respectfully silent before without warning Dr. Kalkirasch dropped his hands to his sides and opened his eyes. His smile was instant and warm.

"All done, Miss. Summers," he proclaimed, moving towards a metal basin that stood against one wall and beginning to vigorously wash his hands despite his lack of contact with his patient.

"And?" Spike prodded, his grip on Dawn's hand tightening almost painfully.

"Baby is in the peak of health," Dr. Kalkirasch promised, his eyes twinkling, "a very strong heartbeat."

"Heartbeat?" Dawn whispered faintly, her eyes beginning to shine with renewed hope. "So... the baby is..."

"Human," the doctor finished with a nod before settling himself at his desk and beginning to scrawl something on a palm sized square of card. "Around twenty-six weeks and three days gestation, and tough as an ox."

Spike and Dawn beamed at each other, tears beginning to pool in the corners of both of their eyes.

"Would you like to know the sex?" Dr. Kalkirasch inquired, laying his pen down and handing the newly completed appointment card to Spike along with a stack of booklets he had fished from his drawer.

"No," Dawn replied in a rush, shaking her head determinedly. "I kind of think a surprise is nicer."

"As you wish," the doctor conceded with a nod, "my lips are sealed. Your own health is perfect, Miss. Summers, and I see no need for any further treatment today. Now, you are free to go and please see that you return promptly for your next appointment in several weeks."

Glancing first at Buffy and Spike, Dawn clambered down from her seat and moved towards a second previously unnoticed door that Dr. Kalkirasch now stood alongside. Nodding at each of the visitors in turn, the doctor pulled open the door to reveal behind it what appeared to be a view of the Summers' lounge. As she shook her head in wonderment, it suddenly dawned on Buffy why none of the doctor's previous patients had been seen to leave their appointments. Spike and Dawn exchanged final pleasantries with the doctor before stepping through the portal and fading from sight. After a moment of hesitation and a final backward glance at the doctor, Buffy crossed the threshold of the doorway. Her feet had barely touched down on the polished wood of her living room floor before the door behind them sealed, and then vanished in a flash of brilliant light.

**x-x-x**

Buffy sat at her mother's old dresser and thoughtfully raked a brush through to the ends of her hair. She had been frozen in this particular pose for the last fifteen minutes, her eyes trained upon her reflection in the mirror although Angel was certain that the Slayer was barely seeing herself at all. He approached from behind and snaked his arms around Buffy's waist, his suspicions confirmed as she visibly jumped. Angel planted an apologetic kiss on Buffy's neck before lowering his chin to rest on her shoulder-blade.

It was late and the couple were preparing for bed on one of Angel's rare evenings off work. In celebration of this fact, Buffy had selected and now sported a blue baby-doll nightdress made from the thinnest cotton imaginable.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked in a soft whisper, smiling as Buffy leaned back into his embrace.

"I was just thinking about the prophecy," Buffy admitted, finally laying the brush on the table in front of her. Angel nodded and waited for her to continue.

"The baby is human so I guess there really is nothing to worry about..." Buffy said, reaching behind her in order to smooth one palm across Angel's cheek.

"But?" he probed, stroking the bare skin at the top of her arm. "You don't trust the doctor?"

"No, I actually did," Buffy replied, her brow furrowing as she added, "I just trust Giles a whole lot more."

Angel shrugged and began scattering kisses along the nape of Buffy's neck. She mumbled in contentment and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling every minute of the torturously long day she had endured.

"Giles has been wrong before," Angel said, pausing for a moment and meeting Buffy's gaze in the mirror as her eyes flashed open. Buffy nodded and spun around in her seat to face Angel. She wasted little time in wrapping both arms around his neck and giggled as he hoisted her effortlessly into the air.

"You worry too much," Angel accused, his tone now an undoubtedly seductive purr that sent shivers rolling throughout Buffy's body. He felt her body tremble a little against his own and his smile was immediate.

"I really do," Buffy breathed, bumping the tip of her nose lightly against Angel's as she taunted him with the prospect of a kiss. At the last second, she pulled away with a wicked grin.

"You know, I have the perfect way to relieve some of that tension," Angel promised, crushing his lips against Buffy's and defiantly claiming the kiss she had denied him. As they drew apart, Buffy nodded eagerly.

"Show me?" she whispered, her eyes growing wide in a pantomime of innocence.

"Definitely," was Angel's only reply as he lowered his lover into the centre of the bed they once more shared.


	45. Chapter 45

'_**Cookies' - XLV**_

'_**When I was younger**_

_**I saw my Daddy cry **_

_**and curse at the wind,**_

_**He broke his own heart and I watched**_

_**as he tried to reassemble it,**_

_**And my momma swore that she**_

_**would never let herself forget,**_

_**And that was the day that I promised**_

_**I'd never sing of love if it does not exist.**_

_**But darling, you are the only exception...'**_

_The Only Exception By Paramore_

_**One month later...**_

Xander Harris was a man of habit. He observed his daily rituals with a kind of reverence that yielded to very little. Routine made Xander feel secure in an otherwise unpredictable universe and he made no apologies for this, particularly given his association with the supernatural.

Every morning after showering, shaving, and dressing, Xander stirred two sugars into his black coffee and settled down at the breakfast table with a bowl of _Captain Crunch_ to read the paper. The one variable in this equation was the actual newspaper itself, which fluctuated from national to local depending on the day. Mostly Xander leafed through the pages and scanned the pictures, his gaze lingering on the cartoons for a second or so longer than was truly respectable for a man of his age.

However, it had been during one of his rarer moments of sobriety that Xander had actually elected to read _The Sunnydale Tribune,_ and thus had stumbled upon an article that had inexplicably drawn his attention. The caption was bizarre to say the least and as Xander read on he found the hairs on the nape of his neck suddenly standing erect- in his experience a sure sign that something was awry. Xander tore the article from the paper and jammed it into the breast pocket of his jacket. The rest of his day proceeded as normal but the content of the article was never far from Xander's mind. He laid his crew off an hour early and drove the five miles to Revello at speed in the growing dusk.

The houses blurred past the window as he drove, his foot bearing down on the accelerator in a manner that was rather uncharacteristic for him. Anya had often griped about Xander's ability to travel _'slower than her dead grandma',_ and Xander found his lips curving upward into a slight smile as he recalled the barb. The memory was accompanied by a familiar sting of grief but Xander was finding these days that the pain was beginning to lessen. He was still undecided as to whether he should feel guilty or relieved, and so he chose instead to consider pain as something immeasurable.

As Xander approached the one set of lights that he would encounter on his journey, he eased his foot off the gas. The streets were beginning to grow more crowded despite the impending darkness and, as Xander spotted a little girl clad in a tutu holding the hand of an adult sized lobster, he realised that Halloween had finally happened upon them. As the lights changed to green, Xander's car shot forward like a bullet; his foot pressed the pedal practically flat against the floor.

When he reached the Slayer's home minutes later, Xander took the porch steps in one bound. He rapped smartly on the door frame and awaited an answer whilst bouncing on the balls of his feet.

From the corner of his eye, Xander spotted a lone jack-o-lantern with a gap-toothed grin sitting atop the porch railing. He sneered back at the pumpkin, which had been carved by an expert hand and completed with a lighted candle. Xander had come to despise Halloween in recent years; the once inoffensive holiday that he had believed a product of the US candy companies had almost ended him upon several occasions. As a child Xander would never have believed that he would come to look upon a bucket of free candy and the excuse to teepee the principal's house with suspicion and downright dread. He had intended this year to launch a full boycott that involved sitting in his locked apartment with a crate of beer, a pizza, and an armful of Reese Witherspoon DVDs. It now seemed increasingly unlikely that this plan would come to fruition.

It was Willow who finally flung open the door, a purple conical hat sitting lopsided on her head and a bowl of candy clutched to her chest. Her eager smile somewhat tarnished as she spotted not a group of chubby, ruddy cheeked tots but a rather aggravated Xander, who barely grunted as he pushed his way into the hall.

The rest of the gang, which Xander was irked to note included Spike, were gathered in the Summers' lounge. Giles flipped through some ancient volume written in an undoubtedly dead language whilst chewing thoughtfully on a stick of chocolate caramel. Buffy was curled in the armchair, dressed in sweats and running her hand through Angel's hair as his head rested in her lap. Dawn stretched out across the couch, Spike settled behind her with both hands resting on the now sizeable swell of her stomach. The brazenness of the vampire sickened Xander but he swallowed back his spite and instead dug in his pocket for the article that had been at the forefront of his mind for the majority of the day. Xander slapped the dog-eared piece of paper onto the arm of Buffy's chair.

"Trick or treat," he quipped, straightening up and folding his arms. Buffy blinked in obvious confusion as she scanned the title of the piece.

"_Sunnydale- Heart Healthy_?" she read, her nose wrinkling. She turned to Xander with her head cocked to one side in question. "You're worried about my cholesterol levels?"

"Just read," Xander replied. Giles peered up from the book that he had been immersed in and affixed Xander with an interested gaze. Buffy's eyes ticked rapidly back and forth across the page before she returned her attention to Xander.

"Ok?" she questioned in a tone that conveyed her lack of comprehension as clearly as the expression on her face.

"Well, don't you think that's at all weird?" Xander pressed, "Aren't you just going _'ooooooh'_ at the weirdness?"

"Uhm..." Buffy faltered, glancing desperately between Willow and Giles for assistance. Giles cleared his throat and gestured for Xander to pass him the article, which he read at remarkable speed.

"Well," Giles murmured, pushing his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose, "I definitely think this merits some investigation Buffy."

"You do?" Buffy asked incredulously. Xander smirked, triumphant, and nodded his head.

"What's going on?" inquired Dawn as she struggled to push herself into a sitting position. Spike gently grasped her elbow and supported her weight, allowing her to swing her legs around and place her swollen feet onto the floor. Xander noted with faint amusement that the black t-shirt she wore was adorned with the image of a grinning pumpkin, the face of which was stretched out across her rounded stomach. It seemed oddly fitting.

"Not entirely sure," Buffy answered, shrugging in a nonchalant manner that suggested she was at peace with this fact.

"_The recent spate of heart attacks that have plagued Sunnydale are baffling top health professionals in the area_," Giles intoned, pausing to ensure that rapt attention was his. "_Within less than several months, twenty-five of Sunnydale's residents have fallen victim to unexpected and seemingly unexplainable coronary arrest. However, over three-quarters of the deceased were aged between 15-30 years... _"

"Not exactly surprising," Spike interjected, his eyes twinkling, "have you _seen_ the size of your average UC Sunnydale student? All that beer and pizza takes it toll, you know."

"_And had no previous history of heart disease, or higher than average cholesterol levels_," Giles finished, glaring rather pointedly at Spike.

"Ok, so tragic and slightly strange," Dawn noted, "but what exactly does this have to do with the Slayer?"

"Yeah, the extent of my heart experience really begins and ends with shoving a stake through them," Buffy said, giggling at her own attempt at wit. Both Xander and Giles rolled their eyes before the latter returned his attention to the article still in hand.

"_By bizarre coincidence, each victim has been discovered in some public area of Sunnydale mere hours after having been reported missing by concerned loved ones. Despite this fact, there have been no known eye witnesses in any of the twenty-five cases. Authorities have ruled out foul play since post-mortem examinations have revealed no other signs of trauma to the bodies of the deceased. Those among the dead include Sunnydale High student Jessica Grove, 16; kindergarten teacher Julie Frances, 26; and Sunnydale Mall night-guard Duke Farmer, 58._"

Angel arched an eyebrow at the mention of the name of his former work colleague; a crotchety man reaching retirement age who had been discovered in the mall parking lot underneath his own Chevy truck. The story was widespread now but nothing about it had struck Angel as particularly out of the ordinary. Duke had made no secret of his frequent visits to The Burger Barn and, considering the man's eating habits, Angel would have been surprised had he not been a candidate for a heart attack.

"So you think... something is scaring these people to death?" Buffy pressed, accepting the article that Giles offered her. "Is that even possible?"

"Well, I'm not entirely certain myself to be honest," Giles admitted with a shrug, "but there is definitely something more to this story than meets the eye. Buffy, I propose that you step up patrol and..."

"But not tonight," Willow hurriedly interjected, shooting Giles a glare. The former Watcher stared back at the witch for several seconds before understanding eventually dawned upon him.

"Oh, erm, yes... quite," Giles stammered, flashing Buffy a smile, "Halloween is characteristically..."

"My busiest night of the year," Buffy drawled, rolling her eyes and sighing laboriously as she climbed to her feet with little enthusiasm. "If these people are dying because of something supernatural then I should be out there."

"Just not tonight," Angel repeated. Willow and Dawn nodded their simultaneous agreement whilst both Xander and Spike merely appeared more bored than usual.

"Why not?" asked Buffy. Her suspicion was mounting with each slyly exchanged glance that passed between her friends.

"Because Angel's taking you to dinner," said Dawn, arching an eyebrow at Angel who nodded. "He booked the table weeks ago. It was supposed to be a surprise... you know, big fancy romantic date on your _quietest_ night of the year."

"Really?" A degree of excitement had crept into Buffy's tone now and she smiled warmly at Angel.

"And Dawnie and I are helping you get dressed," Willow enthused, grabbing Buffy by the hand and dragging her towards the staircase. Dawn huffed as she pushed herself with considerable effort to her feet and began to follow, leaving Spike alone to flip through a copy of _'The Bumper Baby Naming Book'_.

"But what about the article? This isn't the time to be dining out," called Xander, outrage plainly written across his face. "People are dead... should you happen to care."

Dawn waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder and continued to waddle after the two women, who could already be heard cackling over some private joke from the master bedroom.

"They'll still be dead tomorrow, Xand," Dawn replied without turning, her smile impish as she imagined the look of fury that Xander was now doubtlessly wearing. "We'll get right on it then."

"You... you're just..." faltered Xander, his eyes wide as he turned to regard Giles, "you're just going to let them..."

"I agree that this matter perhaps requires Buffy's expertise, but tonight..." Giles left his sentence unfinished and instead turned his gaze upon Angel, who was wearing a smile that Xander did not wholly like the look of.

Without so much as glancing in Xander's direction, Angel finished softly, "Tonight we have more important places to be."

**x-x-x**

Buffy peered out of the back window of the cab that Giles had insisted on ordering for the couple, despite both their protests that they would not be drinking that evening. Angel's directions to the driver had been hushed and deliberately secretive, and in the consuming darkness Buffy could be sure of little other than the fact that they had been driving now for at least twenty minutes. The timing alone indicated to Buffy that wherever they were going was not within Sunnydale's limits. To add to this, she could think of few venues in town that required the level of attire that she and Angel both currently sported.

At first, Buffy had been uncertain about the dress Willow had presented her with. She had produced the garment with a flourish, declaring that she had bought it only weeks ago for a college ball that she now could not attend for some vague reason. The dress was stunning by all accounts; a dark cyan in colour with a plunging neckline and a gauzy skirt that floated to the floor. A thick satin band was positioned just beneath the bust line and would undoubtedly accentuate whatever assets the wearer may possess. The dress was amazing by definition but certainly expensive and so, as any good friend would, Buffy resisted wholeheartedly. Willow had been unwaveringly firm on the matter, and within ten minutes Buffy was admiring her own reflection in the mirror as Dawn worked at fastening the many tiny buttons that adorned the back of the dress. After Willow had completed her makeup and finished pinning her hair into cascade of loose curls Buffy had to admit that, although she felt somewhat overdressed, the overall effect was impressive.

Angel was dressed to match in a black three piece suit and navy blue tie that he appeared uncomfortable in to say the least. Buffy, however, was highly appreciative of his ensemble and not only for the fact that it made her feel less conspicuous.

The couple sat in silence in the back of the cab, the air between them tense although Buffy had no ready explanation as to why. Every so often, Angel would shoot an almost nervous glance out of the side window and begin wiping his hands frantically down the sides of his pants legs. Buffy smiled reassuringly at her fiancé whenever their gazes met, which Angel seemed to be almost deliberately avoiding.

When the cab finally shuddered to a halt, Angel swallowed hard and his hand shot out almost impulsively to grip the door handle. After paying the driver with a few muttered words of thanks, Angel held the door open for Buffy, who clambered out of the cab with some difficulty as the hem of her dress beneath her satin shoes threatened to send her tumbling onto the sidewalk.

Buffy paused to rearrange her dress before peering up at her surroundings with an eager smile spread across her face. Her excitement soon faded as she took in the gates of Restfield Cemetery, one of Sunnydale's most popular burial grounds and her most regular slaying haunt.

"We're at the graveyard," Buffy stated, her lips twisted into a tight smile. "Why are we at the graveyard?"

Angel offered Buffy his arm, smiling as she accepted and then used her free hand to lift the skirt of her dress clear from the ground.

"You'll see," was all that Angel conceded as he led Buffy through the wrought iron gates and towards the chapel that was tucked away just out of sight.

**x-x-x**

Angel pushed open the heavy double doors of the chapel with one arm and continued to steer Buffy with the other. She stepped inside the modest building, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she turned to face Angel.

"What exactly are we doing here?" demanded Buffy, her foot tapping against the stone floor.

"See for yourself," Angel answered, his responding smile tight and belaying his anxiety. Buffy turned towards the front of the chapel, her heart leaping into her mouth as she spotted her friends and sister dressed in their finery standing near the alter. As Buffy's eyes locked with Willow's, the witch flashed a brilliant smile and waved. In her hand she clutched a simple posy of cream coloured roses. Buffy swallowed hard.

"Is this what... I mean... are we..." stammered Buffy, her voice suddenly failing. Her hand fluttered to her throat as though the simple touch of her fingers would restore what she seemed to have lost.

"Buffy," Angel began, turning to face her and grasping both of her hands to his chest, "I know we said we would wait until after the baby, but the more that I think of the time we have already wasted, the more I know this is right."

"But..." Buffy attempted, falling silent as Angel laid his index finger gently against her parted lips.

"I don't have much to offer Buffy, I never have- except my heart," Angel whispered, leaning forwards and brushing his lips against Buffy's forehead. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of Angel's skin against her own. Angel continued, his voice assured now and no longer trembling with nerves, "Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife tonight?"

"But Dawn and..." Buffy said, shooting a helpless glance towards her kid sister, who stood at the front of the chapel arm in arm with Spike, looking radiant in a crimson dress.

"Dawn helped me to organise all of this," Angel explained, gesturing to the assembled group at the front of the church and the floral decorations that Buffy suddenly noticed adorning the end of each row of pews. The flowers were a mixture of cream roses and deep blue delphinium, interwoven with care and affixed in place with ribbon.

"You two did this all on your own?" asked Buffy, extending her hand and brushing her fingertips lovingly across Angel's cheek. He leaned into Buffy's touch and then quickly kissed the palm of her hand.

"Willow took care of the legalities and Xander... well, he was pretty much in the dark up until about forty minutes ago," Angel chuckled, grinning wickedly as he glanced at a rather sullen Xander, who was perched on the edge of the first row of benches with his hands rammed into the pockets of his trousers.

"I just don't know, Angel," Buffy murmured, chewing fretfully on her bottom lip as she attempted to ignore the million cells in her body that screamed at her in unison to take Angel's hand and sprint down the aisle.

"Don't we deserve a little happiness, Buffy?" Angel sighed patiently, cupping Buffy's chin in his hands and tilting her face towards his. "You told me once that when you were done becoming whoever it is you wanted to be that you would know. I'm not going to push you into anything that you aren't ready for yet, Buffy... I love you too damn much. If this isn't what you want right now then that's ok. I can wait a little longer."

"Really, Angel?" Buffy asked softly, her eyes once again drinking in all that Angel had arranged on her behalf.

The intensity of Angel's gaze was almost shocking as he peered down at Buffy with a sad half smile.

"Really," was his only reply.

Buffy's gaze dropped to her shoes and, as she watched the tiny silver sequins glitter in the candlelight, she felt her own heartbeat accelerate against her will. Once upon a time, Buffy had dreamed of nothing but her wedding day. The setting and the little things such as her dress and whether or not she would wear a veil were ever changing and always fun to see, but one detail had remained the same. Buffy had watched a thousand times as Angel turned with a smile to the sight of her walking towards him with one purpose in mind. Sometimes they were on sandy beach at sunset, and sometimes they were in a fragrant garden during the height of summer, but Buffy had always known that should this day ever truly come, the back alley behind the Bronze would suffice just so long as that one little detail remained unchanged. A quiet little chapel in the heart of the town that had thrown them together would do Buffy just fine.

"I'm cookies," she whispered, tears beginning to pool at the corners of her eyes as she crushed her body against Angel's. For a moment, he blinked in confusion, hardly daring to believe that he had heard her correctly.

"Does this mean...?" he managed to choke out, a combination of terror and joy colouring his features. Buffy simply nodded, not trusting her own voice now that the tears had begun to descend her cheeks, washing away the mascara that Dawn had promised faithfully was waterproof.

With a smile on his lips that brought renewed beauty to his features, Angel wrapped his arm around Buffy's waist and leaned closer in order to whisper in her ear. His lips and warm breath brushed against Buffy's lobe and a shiver coursed through her body.

"_Tugaim mo chroi duit go deo_... Let's get married, my love."

**A. N. - "Tugaim mo chroi duit go dea" = I give my heart to you forever**


	46. Chapter 46

'**The Weight of Words' - XLVI**

'_**Well I've been afraid of changing,**_

_**Because I built my life around you,**_

_**But time makes you bolder, even children get older,**_

_**And I'm getting older too…' **_

_Landslide by Fleetwood Mac_

_**One month later…**_

In recent weeks, _The Sunnydale Tribune _had taken to reporting every single coronary related death on the front page of the newspaper. Six more young victims had joined the dead, and the frequency of which the heart attacks were occurring seemed to have increased since Xander had found the article. It almost seemed to Buffy that whatever creature was responsible for the bizarre killings was attempting to draw the Slayer out. Indeed, two of the bodies had been discovered in areas of town that Buffy frequented on her patrols, namely the cemeteries.

Always eager to oblige the whims of creatures of the night, Buffy had stepped up her patrolling. She had temporarily abandoned the search for a job in order to focus on tracking the creature and, where that was impossible, throwing herself into the relevant research. Coupled with the fact that Dawn had withdrawn from school for the remaining five weeks of her pregnancy, Buffy was nearing exhaustion.

Dawn's stomach had ballooned to mammoth proportions now, and the majority of her days were spent in misery reclining on the couch. It seemed to Buffy that every part of her sister was swollen in some way, from fingers to feet and then ankles right back up to cheeks. Dawn griped about her vast increase in size relentlessly and had taken to referring to her pregnancy as 'torture'.

Since Spike was aiding with regular patrols as well as working the night shift at _Willy's_, Buffy had been reduced to playing nursemaid to Dawn, who seemed to require fluids, food and/or attention on an almost half hourly basis. In short, Buffy should have been flagging. However, her spirits had been so much bolstered by the recent wedding that she could not find it within herself to complain about anything. Buffy assumed her responsibilities with a genuine smile fixed in place and an optimistic air that somehow never failed to get on Dawn's very last nerve.

Angel had taken a two week holiday from work in order for the newlyweds to enjoy some quality time together. However, they had managed one dinner date and a trip to the cinema before falling victim once again to their seemingly endless list of responsibilities. Neither of the couple had seemed to mind much though, realising that the current state of red alert was a temporary one, whilst they had the rest of their lives to spend together.

In fact, Buffy had never been so blissfully content as she had in the weeks following her marriage. Angel seemed to be mirroring her buoyant mood, leaving for the job he loathed every evening whistling in a tuneless but gleeful fashion. When he returned in the early hours of the morning, he slid into bed next to Buffy's slumbering form and drifted into the most refreshing sleep he had enjoyed since the first time he had been human.

The entire gang appeared to have embraced the union; surprisingly enough, even Xander had uttered a few words of congratulations and supplied a wedding gift that it was evident he had picked out with some degree of thought. Despite the demonic bargain still hanging over her head, and the strange rash of killings plaguing Sunnydale, Buffy thought that she had never experienced such happiness as this in her entire life. She knew, therefore, that it would all come to an abrupt end at some point in the near future.

Rather unexpectedly, it was Giles who first succeeded in bringing Buffy's happiness crashing down around her. She had ventured to his apartment on a rare lazy Saturday afternoon with the intention of inviting him over for dinner, when she had discovered her former Watcher flinging his belongings haphazardly into a suspiciously large suitcase.

"Giles, what's going on?" Buffy demanded, her arms crossed as she surveyed the apparent explosion of tweed and wool that had occurred in Giles' lounge. "Are you going somewhere?"

"You could say that," was Giles' cryptic and terse reply as he continued placing piles of sweaters into the bag. Buffy frowned as she watched him work, wondering where he could possibly be going that would require so many winter items. Her unspoken query was answered almost in the next second.

"I have been speaking with the coven in England…" Giles began, shooting Buffy a somewhat wary glance before he continued. "They think they may be able to offer some information on Dawn's pregnancy, and the prophecy."

Buffy faltered, her mouth falling open into a tiny 'o' of surprise. A sudden jaunt to England had been the last thing she had expected from Giles given both the proximity to the birth of Dawn's baby, and also the recent events in Sunnydale. Indeed, Giles had busied himself over the last few weeks with the task of researching any demon or mythical creature that could be responsible for an apparent heart attack. Thus far he had uncovered nothing, but the former Watcher had continued to work with an admirable resilience.

"But what about the murders?" Buffy finally spoke, and when she did her tone came out a little more demanding and whiny than she had hoped for. Giles glanced sharply at the Slayer and merely shook his head. In the next instant, he had removed his glasses and busied himself with the task of cleaning them on his sleeve.

"You are more than capable of continuing my research, Buffy," Giles chided in a definitely reproachful manner. "For the moment, it appears that there is no foreseeable pattern emerging as regards the victims and little evidence to go on. I am sure that when the time is right that this creature, whatever it may be, will make it's presence known to you."

Buffy stared back at the man, her mouth agape as he returned his attentions to stuffing volumes and socks simultaneously into his luggage. Buffy could scarcely believe what she was hearing. It appeared to her that Giles was abandoning her on the cusp of her hour of need.

"But what about Dawn and the baby?" Buffy pressed, crossing the room and laying a restraining hand on Giles' arm. Giles raised his eyes to Buffy but failed to hold her gaze for long.

"Dawn doesn't need me around," reasoned Giles, his tone gentle but firm, "she needs Spike and her sister."

"No, you're wrong," Buffy retorted, refusing to remove her other hand from atop Giles' suitcase. "Dawn will want you around. You're the closest thing to a father either of us have had in a long time."

"And this is why I have to go, Buffy," Giles snapped, glancing sharply at the Slayer, who appeared somewhat taken aback. His voice earnest, Giles continued, "If the coven have new information about this prophecy then I must seek it out, Buffy. We cannot go into this situation unprepared. All of our lives could be at risk."

Buffy sighed, rolling her eyes in annoyance as Giles continued to form neat piles of clothing on the coffee table. She removed her hand from the lid of the case and instead planted it firmly on her hip.

"We've already been through this, Giles," Buffy said, her voice rising as her impatience shone through, "Dawn's baby is human. The prophecy is bull."

"Perhaps I once would have been inclined to agree," Giles answered. Buffy halted suddenly; there was something about the way in which Giles now held himself, pensive and uncertain, that inexplicably alarmed her. Buffy grew quiet, waiting for Giles to voice his obvious fears on the matter.

"What are you talking about, Giles?" she demanded after she had finally grown impatient of waiting for his explanation. Giles sighed heavily and turned to Buffy wearing an expression of such utter sorrow that the Slayer's heart almost stilled in her chest.

"That was before I knew, Buffy," replied Giles.

Buffy stood in silence, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of Giles' suddenly heavy gaze. Everything in his eyes was accusing and Buffy knew without a doubt that his next words would be ones she would not relish hearing.

"I know what you did, Buffy," said Giles, finally replacing his glasses onto the bridge of his nose and affixing the Slayer with a sad stare. "I know about the contract."

Buffy's throat felt unbearably tight and she was forced to choke down the lump that had arisen there. Her fingers fluttered to her neck where they settled whilst her wide eyes never once wavered from Giles' face.

"How?" she managed to hiss, her voice sounding strange and distant even to her. Giles shifted his weight from one foot to the other and began to fling objects into his suitcase with renewed gusto.

"The coven see and know far more than we give them credit for," was Giles' only response. Buffy released the breath she had been holding slowly and, instead of resuming the argument, began to aid Giles in placing clothes into his suitcase. She was hardly surprised at his reaction to the news; after all, who would be pleased to learn that their life potentially hung in the balance because of a deal they had played no part in?

"I guess you're very disappointed in me," Buffy murmured, ignoring the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. She had recognised long ago that she had absolutely no right to cry over the bargain she had entered into so willingly.

"I know why you did what you did." Giles paused just long enough to affix the Slayer with a saddened smile. "I only wish that you had not been so naive as to think that you could best the Devil himself."

"I would have let him go," said Buffy quietly, toying with the collar of a shirt she held in her hands. Try as she may, she was unable to bring herself to meet Giles' gaze any longer.

Giles inhaled deeply and, after several seconds had elapsed, Buffy found herself being led to the armchair and lowered gently against the cushions. It was then that she realised that she had given into her tears. Buffy's vision blurred as fat droplets trickled down her cheeks and splashed onto the front of her tank top.

"I'm so sorry Giles…" she hissed, struggling to catch her breath against the sobs that threatened to master her. "I couldn't think of a way to tell you. I thought that maybe I could stop it… maybe there would be some kind of way… but I've looked and…"

Giles laid his hand over Buffy's as she trailed off, sniffling and swiping at her wet cheeks with the back of her free hand. When Buffy finally forced herself to glance at Giles' face, she saw concern, fear, sorrow and the desire to comfort pass across his features in rapid succession.

Swallowing hard, Giles appeared to be summoning the courage to speak. When eventually it came, the former Watcher's tone was patient and kind.

"I have no doubt that whatever you did, you did for what you believed to be the right reasons. I can't imagine being faced with such a decision but as the Slayer, this is your duty. You make the choices that serve the greater good and sometimes… personal sacrifices are required."

Buffy stared down at her trembling hands, which rested in her lap now, covered by Giles' own. She briefly wondered why she had not thought to share her burden with the man before, but realised that it was her own shame that had prevented her. Since learning of the bargain, Angel had been scouring his remaining underworld sources for more information and some potential way out of the contract. So far, his efforts had uncovered little other than the unanimous agreement that those who tangled with Lucifer did not emerge victorious. It seemed apparent now to Buffy that Lucifer would make good on his end of the deal, and she could do little more than wait with baited breath for him to make his move. She would defend any one of her friends to the last, even if she was forced to forfeit her own life in the bargain, and this was the only fact that had thus far allowed Buffy to sleep at night.

"The coven believe they may be able to help," Giles continued, casting a glance at the clock that hung on the wall of his lounge and frowning. "My flight leaves in six hours. Willow will be accompanying me."

"Willow?" Buffy inquired, cocking her head in bemusement. She wondered if she would be able to cope with the new big bad that had set it's sights on Sunnydale and also Dawn's less than upbeat mood without her best friend to figuratively cheer her on.

Giles nodded before speaking once more, "She believes that she may be able to utilise the collective resources of the coven to further investigate the prophecy. Also, she grew very attached to a number of coven members. I think it would do her good to return and allow them to see how far she has come since their last meeting."

"Does she… know?" Buffy said uncertainly, a blush rising on her cheeks as she considered how Willow would feel about the bargain Buffy had made that promised to affect them all. With a faint look of surprise, Giles shook his head.

"Certainly not," he replied, "and neither am I planning to tell her."

"How long will you be gone?" asked Buffy as she dabbed at her damp cheeks with the handkerchief that Giles offered to her. She folded the cloth in her lap and began to twist it absently around her fingers as she awaited Giles' response. The prospect of Giles leaving when so many unanswered questions hung above their heads made Buffy inexplicably nervous, and she was having great difficulty in controlling the tremors that promised to wrack her body.

"I am hopeful we will be back in two weeks," said Giles, offering Buffy a smile that only served to further cultivate her guilt. "I'll call you when we arrive, and once again when we know more."

Flashing Giles a watery smile, Buffy climbed to her feet and returned to the task of filling his suitcase with the required items. Seizing her hand in his own, Giles peered into Buffy's eyes, finding pain there now in place of the joy that had only recently been reflected in their depths.

"I will help you in any way I can, Buffy," Giles murmured softly, gasping ever so slightly as Buffy threw herself into his arms and seized him in an embrace. Resting his chin on the crown of Buffy's head, Giles obliged by encompassing the Slayer in his arms.

The packing was complete half an hour later, Giles having been forced to sit on the top of the case to allow Buffy to yank the stubborn zipper closed.

It was another three hours before both Giles and Willow were bound for the airport. Buffy had waved them off with a false smile affixed firmly in place, before returning to the Summers' home to resume the many responsibilities that suddenly seemed so much more inconvenient.


	47. Chapter 47

_**Moment of Truth – XLVII**_

_**Two weeks later...**_

The scheduled span of Giles and Willow's visit to England had come and gone by three days, with no signs of either returning imminently. As Dawn's due date drew nearer and more of Sunnydale's residents fell victim to suspicious deaths, Buffy finally began to lean towards panic. It was a move that both Xander and Angel supported whole heartedly, and one that the Slayer herself was grappling with on a daily basis.

Increased patrols and regular visits to underworld sources had proven fruitless, and a generally tense air had settled over the town of Sunnydale. The vampire population had appeared to dwindle, although this could have perhaps been due to the fact that the residents of Sunnydale were for once keeping off the streets after darkness descended. For the first time ever, the people of Sunnydale seemed to have noted that something odd was occurring in their sleepy little town. Even The Bronze had closed its doors indefinitely, and Buffy was reminded of the time that Sunnydale had been abandoned right before the entire zip code had been swallowed by an earthquake.

Everyone was decidedly jumpy, Dawn perhaps more so than most given that she was now estimated to be approximately four weeks away from giving birth. Buffy thought that must be a daunting enough prospect in itself without the added stress of a mystical as of yet unravelled prophecy attached to the baby in question.

Whilst Spike walked around with a permanent smile glued to his face, Dawn lived out each day with her eyes frozen wide in terror. Buffy did what she could to allay her little sister's fears, including watching birthing DVDs with Dawn that she had checked out of the local library. However, this appeared to have had the opposite effect on Dawn, who had shut herself in the bathroom for an hour following claiming that the baby would simply have to stay where it was. Truth be told, the scenes they had witnessed on the screen had made even Buffy the Vampire Slayer wince, and she was more than accustomed to dealing with a generous helping of blood, guts and bodily fluids. For the first time in a long time, Buffy genuinely pitied her little sister.

Dawn had decided that the baby would be born in the local hospital, where she intended to surround herself with as many drugs as humanly possible. Since Dawn had been known to pop an Asprin for as little as a stubbed toe, Buffy did not doubt the seriousness of her sister's statement. Dawn had also requested that Buffy attend the birth, given the fact that she was unsure as to how controlled Spike could remain around that much blood. Buffy had hesitantly agreed and was currently in the process of praying for some act of divine intervention to save her from the commitment. Little did Buffy realise that she would get her wish sooner rather than later.

Almost everyday that Giles had been away, Buffy had driven the short distance across town to his apartment in order to collect his mail, water those plants which were not rubber, and throw far too many fish flakes into his aquarium. These were tasks that Buffy completed more to keep her own mind occupied as opposed to prove any real help to Giles, who undoubtedly feared that he would return to vast quantities of lost mail, and to find that a wave of death had swept through his apartment. No matter how hard Giles attempted to dissuade Buffy against her 'helpful' visits, she maintained them nonetheless.

On this particular morning, Buffy had been shocked when Dawn had waddled her way downstairs and insisted on accompanying her sister about her daily activities. Knowing that Dawn would only wallow in self pity on the couch otherwise, Buffy agreed and the sisters planned an impromptu trip to the movies followed by dinner. Therefore, it was with slightly higher spirits that Buffy set about drowning the first of Giles' many rare and expensive plants in water and plant feed.

When the telephone rang suddenly, shattering the quiet of the apartment to oblivion, Buffy jumped and the jug of water she had been holding clattered from her hand. Water spilled across the tiled floor and Buffy uttered a low curse, realising that she had also soaked her newest pair of suede boots. Dawn shot her sister a surprised look from her position on the couch, and simply watched as Buffy picked her way almost tentatively towards the phone.

"Hello?" Buffy inquired as she retrieved the phone from its cradle. Her tone wavered with uncertainty. Dawn's gaze remained trained on her sister's face and Buffy turned her back as she was overcome by discomfort. "Rupert Giles' residents how may..."

"Buffy?"

Both Buffy and Dawn visibly relaxed as the sound of Giles' familiar and warm voice permeated the air. Dawn returned her attention to the home decor magazine she had discovered atop the coffee table, deliberately buried, whilst Buffy cupped her hand around the receiver.

"Giles... how come you're calling yourself?" she inquired, her nose wrinkling as she contemplated this. Buffy heard Giles tut and could almost imagine him rolling his eyes at her banal question.

"I called your house and received no answer, and since your cell phone spends more time turned off in the bottom of your handbag, I thought it perhaps prudent to try my luck here," Giles explained coolly, although something about his tone seemed almost urgent to Buffy. She stood up a little straighter and began to cross the lounge towards the bedroom, where she knew that Dawn was unlikely to overhear the conversation. Attempting to retain a casual air, Buffy giggled into the receiver, directed a smile at Dawn, and then disappeared into the master bedroom. She closed the door behind her and sank onto the edge of Giles' king size bed, her stomach churning.

"What's up, Giles?" Buffy asked, her tone suddenly switching now that Dawn was positioned safely out of ear shot. "I'm guessing this isn't just a social call."

"Unfortunately not," Giles replied, and Buffy was momentarily taken aback by the weariness that broke through his words. Evidently, whatever Giles was doing, he was working hard at it and affording himself little rest in the process.

"Is this about the prophecy?" pressed Buffy, lowering her voice to a whisper as she added, "or my deal?"

"I am not entirely sure if I am to be honest," said Giles with a sigh, and Buffy cocked her head in a questioning manner before realising that Giles could not see her. Embarrassment prickled at her but Buffy brushed it aside.

"What does that mean?" Buffy inquired, beginning to grow increasingly uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was heading. She hated feeling so utterly helpless and was in secret relying on the coven for whatever information they promised to yield; so far, that was nothing much beyond reiterating the fact that Dawn's baby would indeed be human.

"Willow had a dream," Giles began, hesitating for a moment. Buffy could hear a second, more hushed voice offering some input to the conversation, and Giles making quiet noises of agreement in his throat.

"What's going on, Giles?" demanded Buffy, struggling now to keep her voice to a minimum. She had no wish to panic Dawn anymore than she was already, and Buffy knew without a doubt that any talk of the prophecy would not fail to do so.

"The coven is still working with her in an attempt to decipher its true meaning. Dreams are often not what they immediately seem, and so this one is posing quite the problem given the nature of all that is on Willow's mind at present," Giles explained. Buffy fell silent, mulling over his statement that had shed little light on his reason for calling.

"What did she see?" Buffy finally managed, her throat growing unbearably tight in the few moments of silence that followed. A sigh from Giles, the faint sounds of stirring in the lounge, and Buffy waited with baited breath for an answer that it seemed would never arrive.

"The birth of Dawn's baby," murmured Giles, and Buffy was forced to strain to decipher his next words. "There will be a battle that you can perhaps not hope to win without casualties."

Buffy almost felt her own heart shudder to a halt in her chest, and it was several painful seconds before she released a sharp intake of breath and came to life once again.

"Giles, who died?" Her voice was even, almost calm, and the sound of it surprised Buffy herself. In that moment however, calm was all she had.

There was a pause, so tense and unbearable that nausea assaulted Buffy until she thought she may actually lose the content of her stomach on Giles' Egyptian cotton sheets.

"Everyone."

There was an audible crash from the lounge and, before Buffy had time to react, Dawn's plaintive cry reached her ears.

**x-x-x**

Dawn folded her arms across her chest as best she could given her seemingly ever expanding stomach. Her narrowed eyes followed Buffy's figure as she retreated into Giles' bedroom, and the quiet click that the door made as it closed alerted Dawn to the fact that she could not hope to overhear anything of merit. Buffy's insistence on keeping every little thing a secret lately was beginning to grind on Dawn's nerves but, for the sake of their recently repaired relationship, she refrained from comment or complaint. However, Dawn was unsure of just how long she could maintain this level of self control since, as her due date advanced, she found her temper growing ever shorter.

Whilst Spike was viewing the baby's impending arrival with an almost manic kind of anticipation, Dawn was contemplating it with nothing but dread weighing heavily on her mind. She was not a fan of pain and, despite the reassurances of many of her friends' mothers, Dawn had come to realise that she was in for agony of the earth shattering kind. The DVD that she had rented from the local library had done nothing to assuage her fears and had rather counter-productively simply made her want to hurl. Dawn had wondered how anyone could find something so brutally graphic helpful, and had practically thrown the DVD at the librarian upon returning it. The particularly nasty curl of her lip had seen the woman shrinking back behind the desk, hopefully making a mental note to never again recommend such a rental to a woman in Dawn's condition.

Dawn shifted in her position on the couch, groaning as a sharp pain stabbed at her back; she attempted to return her attention to the magazine she had been leafing through but the print on the page blurred unhelpfully in a testament to her exhaustion. Indeed, she had been awake since almost three am when the niggling ache in her back had finally proven too great to ignore. Pacing the floor had not helped nor had arranging pillows around her lower body in a kind of cocoon, and so Dawn had resigned herself to the fact that she would not be returning to sleep, and instead climbed into a warm bath. Thus, she had been washed and dressed by six am and in a relatively foul mood when Buffy had happened upon her some time later.

Dawn was fed up to say the least, and not even the prospect of dinner and a movie with her sister had succeeded in lifting her mood much. She longed for her pregnancy to be over and the very idea that she still had another month of torment to endure was enough to move Dawn to tears.

Hearing a crash from somewhere outside and the howls of a dog beginning to rise on the evening air, Dawn heaved herself up from the couch and lumbered towards the window. She doubted that she would find anything of interest outside but the pain in the base of her spine seemed to recede just a little when she was standing, and so Dawn proceeded to shuffle across the room. Suddenly, her cell phone began to vibrate from its position in her jeans pocket, and Dawn slipped it out with some difficulty in order to examine the screen. Seeing Spike's name flashing up on the display, and anticipating another round of nagging regarding the pre-natal vitamins that Dawn had once again neglected to take, she stabbed the power button on her phone, sending the call straight to voicemail. Huffing a sigh, Dawn reached across to part Giles' curtains and, in the next instant, the streetlights outside flickered then died. Inexplicably, Dawn shuddered, feeling the baby shift within her as though it too sensed something amiss. Dropping her hand to the bulge of her stomach, Dawn rubbed soothing circles, smiling at the responding pressure to the touch of her fingertips. She knew that everything would prove worthwhile in the end.

Thankful that it had not yet grown dark enough to warrant indoor lighting, Dawn squinted as she peered through the glass. The doors of the neighbouring homes appeared to be opening one by one, and Dawn watched with a frown as the families inside spilled out onto the streets. They moved slowly and apparently with no sense of urgency. No words were exchanged as far as Dawn could tell, but the residents seemed united in their destination. Dawn watched silently and with mounting alarm as Giles' neighbours turned towards his apartment building and began to march steadily onwards. As they drew closer, Dawn was just about able to make out the vacant expressions that dominated each and every face. For just the briefest of moments, she was reminded of the battle that had occurred in L.A. just before Angel had been made human, and Dawn's heart began to pick up speed in her chest.

She swallowed hard, suddenly nauseas, and pressed a palm to the spot on her back that still ached relentlessly. It was then that Dawn noted the appearance of their eyes; each and everyone stared ahead, unblinking, unseeing, and milky white. Dawn stumbled back from the window, knocking over a tall vase in the process, and allowed the curtain to fall from her hand. The startled yelp she had intended to release stuck in her throat, almost causing her to choke.

Dawn jammed her hand back into her pocket, ferreting around for her cell phone, and in her panic failing to register the sudden popping sensation in her abdomen; that was, until the crotch of Dawn's jeans began to darken, and she felt the unpleasant and alien sensation of a rush of fluid leaving her body.

Dawn's hand fluttered to her mouth and, through the fingers she pressed to her own lips, she managed to call out for her sister. It was several seconds before Buffy finally appeared in the lounge, the telephone still poised at her ear, although Dawn could hear the distinct sound of the dialling tone.

"Dawn..." Buffy breathed, relief flooding her features as she scanned her sister's albeit pale face. "What is it?"

Dawn pointed a shaking finger to the window whilst simultaneously motioning to the front of her soaking wet trousers. Buffy let out an audible gasp as understanding dawned upon her.

"There are freaky, possessed looking people outside," Dawn sobbed in explanation, "and I think my waters just broke."

Buffy stared in abject horror at her sister for a moment, phone clutched so tightly that her knuckles whitened, and her own knees feeling so weak that they threatened to buckle at any moment. Panic washed over her in great waves that she was unsure as to whether she could hold at bay for long.

Dawn simply watched Buffy through wide eyes, waiting for some instruction or for the Slayer to leap into action and save the day as she always did. Buffy, however, remained frozen.

That what was when the vicious pounding on the front door began.


	48. Chapter 48

_**A Woman's Work – XLVIII**_

'**Pray God you can cope**

**I stand outside this woman's work,**

**This woman's world.**

**Ooh, it's hard on the man,**

**Now his part is over.**

**Now starts the craft of the father.'**

_This Woman's Work by Kate Bush_

In that one moment, blind terror was not an option; and yet it was the reality that both Buffy and Dawn were entertaining. The sisters stood rooted to their respective spots; Dawn visibly shaking and wet through, and Buffy pale and over faced by feelings of utter inadequacy.

The pounding on the door continued but neither of the Summers women moved an inch. Their eyes locked, green with blue, and for a while both held their breath. It was only when a ripple of pain threaded from the base of Dawn's back across the front of her abdomen that she moved; her hand slid to her stomach, and surprise registered across her features as to how mild that first discomfort had been. It was over in less than fifteen seconds and Dawn was left open mouthed to face the realisation that her contractions had begun. In that one moment, the reality of how much her life was about to change finally collided with her.

Shaking herself free of her fear, Buffy leapt into action. She shot forward and one arm immediately snaked around Dawn's waist as she led her sister back to the couch, not caring that Giles would likely be mortified that his cushions were in jeopardy.

"Everything's gonna be fine, Dawnie," Buffy soothed, smoothing Dawn's hair back from her face and affixing her sister with a smile that came easier than she had anticipated. Dawn nodded dumbly in response and settled back against the couch.

As the hammering on the front door became impossible to ignore, Buffy crossed the room and debated throwing it wide open in order to begin landing punches upon whatever creature stood beyond it. However, she instead peered through the peephole, gasping as she took in the sight of a somewhat charred Spike clutching a blanket to his chest.

"Open the bloody door, Slayer!" Spike yelped, assaulting the wooden panel once again with both fists.

"Is that Spike?" Dawn pressed, her expression growing hopeful as she peered over at Buffy. Her teeth worried her bottom lip, and Buffy could almost see the fear that radiated off her sister in waves. Buffy's fingers worked at the lock rapidly and she threw the door open in order to usher Spike inside.

"Get in!" hissed Buffy, burying her fingers into the vampire's shoulder and literally hauling him over the threshold. Spike stumbled into the lounge, allowing the blanket to fall from his grip as he turned back to stare at the front door, which Buffy was already securing behind him.

"What the bloody hell is going on out there?" Spike demanded, his eyes sweeping Buffy's face in a frantic manner for any trace of an answer. Buffy simply shrugged, moving to the window that overlooked the courtyard without so much as uttering a word to Spike.

Masses of people were beginning to file into the space, their eyes bearing the same glassy appearance, and their faces all turned in the direction of Giles' door. They moved almost as one entity; an eerie sight to behold.

"Oh, that's right, Slayer, just ignore the bloke who ran three miles in the blistering sunlight and then fought his way through the Children of the Corn wannabes out there," Spike snapped, throwing his arms down wide at his sides and indicating the burns that riddled the visible parts of his skin. "Look at me! I feel like a flaming rotisserie ham."

"Shut up, Spike!" Buffy yelled, rounding on the vampire without warning; her fingers curled into tight fists at her sides and her breath came in sharp gasps. She directed a discrete glance at Dawn, inclining her head, and dared to hope that Spike would comprehend the subtle hint.

"What's that, love?" demanded Spike, his expression communicating his bemusement. He frowned at Buffy and directed a quick glance at Dawn, who was rocking on the edge of the sofa with her arms encircled around her belly as tendrils of pain began to lick at her abdomen once again.

"My waters broke," whispered Dawn, her voice shaking and her bottom lip trembling. Buffy could tell that she was desperately attempting to hold herself together and coming close to failing at the task.

"We'll get you a new one," Spike replied almost testily, his eyes returning to Buffy's face. Suddenly, Spike froze as realisation struck him where he stood like a bolt of lightening.

In a painstakingly slow action, he turned on his heel to regard Dawn. His mouth fell open and for just a moment he seemed to be struggling for breath; an impossible feat for a vampire who had no necessity for such bodily functions. Buffy found herself feeling almost sorry for the apparently shell-shocked vampire.

"Oh God," Spike stuttered finally, "but... you can't... it's too early... I'm not ready..."

Buffy and Dawn glared at the vampire, silencing his pitiful and pointless protests with a similarly venomous looks. Spike gulped down a breath, and then wisely chose to close his mouth.

"We need to get Dawn out of here," Buffy instructed, running to the far window and peering out to survey the street. She saw only more figures ambling towards the apartment building and her heart stilled in her chest.

Spike shook his head, his complexion even more pallid than usual as he replied, "No way that's happening. Those things are everywhere. Group of them ambushed us at work..."

"What?" Buffy demanded, planting her hands on her hips as she glared at Spike. He nodded in confirmation. He shot a glance at Dawn, who appeared too preoccupied with releasing slow, measured breathes to be eavesdropping, before he whispered, "Worked the graveyard shift at Willy's. He let me crash on the floor of the basement. Woke up to a fight upstairs and by the time I got there... well, Willy was in a bad way."

"Willy's dead?" said Buffy, her eyes widening at the idea. Willy the snitch had long been a part of her life in Sunnydale, whether as a useful informant or a pain in her ass. However, the Slayer had come to look upon the weasel-like man with a degree of affection in recent years, and thus the very idea that he had now been lost brought a slight lump to her throat. Buffy had always assumed that, like a cockroach, Willy was capable of sniffing out trouble before it descended and hiding from it underneath the nearest rock. Apparently, her assumptions were off.

"Hey, no time for the waterworks," Spike chided gently, his eyes returning to Dawn who seemed to be settling back against the cushions once again, "the little weasel's gonna be just fine. I patched him up and here I am. Now… the telephone?"

"Dead, like the cell phones," Buffy responded flatly, running one hand through her hair, "I was in the middle of a call to Giles..."

"Giles?" Spike demanded, alarm bells clearly ringing, "what did he want?"

Buffy shook her head, shrugging as she lied, "Nothing important."

"Guys..." Dawn murmured, attempting to draw the attentions of her sister and boyfriend, both of whom appeared to have momentarily forgotten her presence.

"You need something, sweetie?" Buffy pressed, crossing the room and dropping down at Dawn's side instantly. She reached forwards and brushed tendrils of dark hair from her sister's forehead, wordlessly noting the terror she found reflected in her eyes.

"What are we gonna do?" Dawn inquired, her voice small and bearing undertones of panic. "What are those things? And what do they want?"

"We don't know right now," Buffy replied, rubbing comforting circles at the base of Dawn's back and managing to muster a reassuring smile. "Right now, we're going to make you comfortable."

Dawn nodded, her gaze ticking to Spike, who seemed to be rocking on the balls of his feet as he surveyed Dawn's stomach. The fear upon his face would have been comical at any other time, but Buffy recognised her need for the vampire to prove at least some assistance.

"Right, Spike?" Buffy demanded, injecting emphasis into her tone as she glared at the dumbstruck vampire. Buffy quirked a brow; an unspoken but deadly threat, and Spike appeared to recover himself enough to find his voice.

"Right, pet," he gulped, "exactly right."

**x-x-x**

Dawn squeezed her eyes tight closed, willing herself to breathe through the pain that rocked her body. Instead of the calm, measured breaths that the birthing DVD had encouraged, Dawn found herself sucking in air raggedly in a manner she was certain was doing little to ease her discomfort. With each contraction that hit, the mound of her belly grew taught, and a sensation unlike any other she had experienced before wound its way around her pelvis, and pierced deep into the recesses of her back.

In the moments when relief came, Dawn sagged against the bed, panting and curling her fingers around the sheets. Every logical thought she still possessed urged her to get off the bed and allow gravity to aid her, but for the life of her Dawn could not summon the strength or resolve to do so. Her knees felt unbearably weak, whether as an after effect of the pain she suffered or her own fear Dawn had no clue.

For several hours, the contractions had come every ten minutes, until the worst yet had hit Dawn like a speeding truck on the freeway. There had barely been five minutes grace since the previous pain, and Dawn had realised that her labour was beginning to progress whether she was prepared for the event or not.

The first time she had cried out, she had recognised the concern and sorrow in her sister's eyes, knowing that if Buffy could have endured every last twinge on her behalf, she would have. So for her sister's benefit, Dawn attempted to plaster a smile upon her sweat drenched face, and dug her fingernails into her own palm to distract herself. The charade was near impossible to maintain as Dawn's flushed cheeks and hunched figure betrayed her time and time again. After a further hour of pacing Giles' lounge, leaning on Spike for support, the Slayer and the vampire had hefted Dawn between them into Giles' bedroom. Dawn had practically collapsed onto the bed, unconcerned for her dignity as Spike and Buffy worked her sodden jeans off and replaced them with a pair of Giles' sweatpants. Buffy had retreated then for a while, resolving to allow Spike and her sister a degree of privacy; however, she had found herself unable to stay away as each moan or squeak that Dawn uttered drew her to the threshold of the room. Finally, Buffy approached the bed and committed herself to the rather pointless task of stroking the crown of Dawn's head. Her sister uttered no protests however, and so Buffy continued in her task even as her mind worked to find a way out of their current predicament.

Every moment brought Dawn closer to the brink of utter exhaustion, but perhaps more alarming to the girl by far was the thought that each contraction brought her one step closer to motherhood. The question of whether or not Dawn was ready for such a task was now well and truly irrelevant, and Spike watched from the corner of the room with the weight of the world upon his shoulders. To him, childbirth was akin to a cruel and unusual punishment; he was powerless to do anything much beyond slip ice chips between Dawn's lips, and dig the flat of his hand into her back when the pain began to niggle there. The realisation that he could do nothing to alleviate Dawn's suffering gnawed at him, and created a new hole of self-loathing in his already moth-eaten soul. Spike assumed that this was how most prospective fathers felt, more like a spectator than truly a partner in the supposed miracle they were assured they were a part of. So far, Spike failed to see the beauty in the experience; as far as he was concerned, birth was bloody, sweaty, and brought unbearable agony to all in the vicinity.

When Dawn's muted moans finally became too much to bear, Spike pushed himself out of his chair, and strode into the lounge, cradling his head in his hands. The sounds of Buffy whispering comfort to Dawn prickled at his conscience all the more, but Spike could not bring himself to return to the bedroom. Entering the kitchen, he filled the kettle with water and placed it on the gas burner to boil. A minute later, footsteps behind him alerted him to Buffy's presence, which was confirmed when a sharp slap landed across his head.

"Ow!" Spike whined, rounding on Buffy with narrowed eyes and gritted teeth.

"That's nothing compared to what I'll do if you don't get your ass back in there," Buffy hissed, her eyes wild and her expression furious. Spike swallowed but stood his ground, indicating the now whistling kettle with his thumb.

"Boiling water and getting towels," he sniffed defensively, "being useful and all that."

Buffy glared at the vampire as though every last ounce of her willpower was being utilised to prevent her from strangling him.

"Spike, do you even know why you're boiling water?" she demanded quietly, arching a brow as Spike faltered and then shook his head, crestfallen. "Didn't think so."

"I just..." Spike began, raking his fingers through his hair and groaning as he shot a desperate glance at the closed bedroom door, from behind which he could hear Dawn's soft whimpers. "I need to do something. It's bloody killing me watching her go through that."

"Be there," Buffy bit back, all traces of sympathy reserved clearly for her sister, and not the person whom she held responsible for her pain. "Whatever you're feeling, magnify it by one hundred and that's what Dawnie is going through right now. You want to be useful? Then get in there, hold her hand, tell her she's beautiful, and stop being so... bloody selfish."

Spike cocked his head, staring at Buffy as though she had lost her mind.

"Bloody?" he queried, amusement twitching the corners of his lips upward into a smirk. Buffy shook her head in exasperation and swatted at the vampire, although there was no real force behind the blow.

"You rub off on people," she defended, rolling her eyes as she added, "don't let it go to your head. It doesn't mean I like you or anything."

Spike nodded and, with a sheepish smile of apology, nudged the kettle off the stove and onto the counter. He directed a glance to the window, outside of which the residents of Sunnydale still lingered. Any attempts at escape had been abandoned now in favour of caring for Dawn, but Spike was aware that soon they would be forced to address the glaring issue awaiting them beyond the front door.

Spike's expression sobered and he nodded towards the window, watching as Buffy shifted in discomfort from one foot to the other.

"What do we do?" Spike queried, sounding so lost and afraid that Buffy's own heart skipped a beat as the fear she had been reigning in so desperately for the last few hours managed to overwhelm her momentarily. Swallowing, Buffy shook her head.

"I don't know," she murmured, her eyes ticking back to the bedroom door as Dawn let out a wail that almost brought tears to her eyes. The situation seemed desperate and without resolve; all means of communication to the outside were cut off; the exits were barred by Giles' former neighbours who, although they made no move to attack, were ominous enough in their very presence; and, Dawn would give birth imminently, one month early, and surrounded only by a formerly bloodthirsty vampire, and her clueless sister.

For once, Buffy the Vampire Slayer had no answers for the predicament that had befallen them.


	49. Chapter 49

'_**Mother Nature's Son' - XLVIIII**_

"_Joy in looking and comprehending is nature's most_

_beautiful gift" - Albert Einstein_

It had been a moderately quiet shift thus far, with nothing to report other than a rebel-without-a-clue teenager wielding a can of spray paint, and a stray dog sniffing around the entrance to the mall and invariably setting off every alarm sensor in place.

It was after having dealt with this latest inconvenience- panting from chasing the delighted stray around the perimeter of the building at least several times- that Angel finally returned to the security office with the soul intention of locating both a tall cup of coffee and at least one doughnut to dunk in it. The mongrel remained renegade, and the utter sense of failure that had encompassed Angel as a result was quite unbelievable.

Angel despised shifts such as this; when the evening became so uneventful that he began to crave the old familiarity of a graveyard, and the weight of a stake in his hand. Although hunting monsters and the forces of darkness was dangerous beyond belief, it had always given Angel a sense of purpose; one that protecting hardware stores and shoe retailers was never likely to match.

As Angel pushed his way into the security office located on the ground floor of the parking lot, he grunted a feeble greeting to Joe, the newest guard who had eventually replaced Duke, and yet seemed as utterly work-shy as his predecessor. Although several decades younger than Duke had been, Joe was far less impressive in stature, falling several inches below average height, and carrying so little muscle or weight that the sharp corners of his ribs were visible beneath the cotton of his shirt. He cut a rather unimposing figure and, coupled with his distinct lack of wits or personality, Angel was baffled as to why he had been awarded the job.

Joe failed to respond, continuing to stare at the screen of the small colour television that had been slotted in place besides the camera monitors. The TV was easily as old as the building itself, and received only one channel with any relevant clarity, but Joe appeared transfixed nonetheless, and so Angel set about silently brewing a pot of coffee. He peered down at the box of glazed doughnuts residing on the countertop with interest, and then grimaced when he realised that Joe had claimed the dozen with a single bite to each one. The discovery hardly helped Angel's sour mood, and he found himself contemplating revenge, which induced all manner of ridiculous scenarios that he allowed to play out in his head purely to pass a little time.

There were ten more hours left until his shift drew to an end, and Angel expected every last one of them to be painful.

Finally, adding milk and sugar to his mug, Angel brushed passed Joe and settled into the sagging and battered old easy chair; the one creature comfort in the room that his partner had not yet laid claim to. Angel soon discovered why however when, after resting his hand on the arm of the chair, an unpleasantly sticky substance met his fingertips. Snarling, Angel withdrew his hand only to discover that his palm and fingers were coated with the remnants of someone else's pre-chewed gum.

"There's gum on the chair," Joe drawled in his lazy, monotone voice that set Angel's every last nerve on edge.

Never one for unnecessary confrontation, Angel simply heaved a pained sigh before inching towards the sink to begin scrubbing the offending goop from his skin. However, it was as he moved to cross the room, passing within an inch of one monitor, that Angel noted a bizarre movement on the screen from the corner of his eye. The gum momentarily forgotten, Angel turned to observe the screen full on, and watched in surprise as several figures glided from different directions only to congregate in front of the metal shutters that blocked off the main entrance to the parking lot. Squinting, Angel leaned forwards across the desk, drawing a protest from Joe who was almost dislodged from his chair by the much taller and wider man.

"What the hell, dude?" Joe demanded, scowling up at Angel, who waved him off with his gum encrusted hand. Joe fell obediently silent, eyes ticking to the monitor that appeared to have captured Angel's attention so intently.

The people - two men and two women of varying ages- simply stood in front of the entrance, not one making even the slightest move to pry it open.

"Vandals," Joe commented, reaching for his discarded cap and preparing to pull it onto his head. Angel rested a gently restraining hand on the man's shoulder, ignoring the irritated glare he received in response before Joe shook him off.

"No… they're not doing… anything," observed Angel, his brow furrowing as he continued to watch, perplexed. Joe sucked noisily on his teeth and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Then why should we care?" he demanded, poised to return to the TV screen. He let out a yelp of protest however as he realised that the item had finally given up the ghost, and the screen presented him with nothing more than a snowstorm of black and white dots.

"Television's bust," growled Joe, reaching forwards and twiddling each knob in turn. When his efforts yielded no results, he stabbed the 'power' button and slumped back into his seat, resigned to a further evening of boredom.

"Shut up…" Angel barked, his eyes narrowing now as he moved to observe another of the six monitors. There on the screen was a clear image of a gang of youths stumbling slowly to surround the shuttered exit, their arms held stiff at their sides and their eyes seemingly affixed on one point. Something in the way they moved- stilted yet quick- seemed wrong to Angel, and he practically pressed his nose against the screen of the monitor as he attempted to examine the scene more carefully.

"What the…" Angel began, trailing off as Joe's elbow colliding repeatedly with his chest drew his gaze to the monitor that resided in the bottom corner of the cluster. Angel watched the screen in horror as throngs of men, women, and even children surrounded the delivery entrance to the parking lot.

As one face inclined itself just so towards the camera, Angel noted the glassy, milky-white sheen of their eyes with a gasp that did not go unnoticed by Joe.

"Hey man, what the hell?" Joe repeated, this time his tone directed at the unfolding scene outside. Each of the six monitors were now dominated by what appeared to be a flourishing mob; indeed, every one of the entrances or exits to the building was now under the surveillance of crowds of silent and unmoving people.

"What's with their eyes?" Joe demanded, a note of fear detectable in his voice. "Is that like… a trick of the light or something?"

Angel merely shook his head, over one hundred years of occult experience telling him that the bizarre appearance of the crowd was unlikely to be a result of something as mundane as a mere camera malfunction, or effect of the streetlamps.

"I don't think so," Angel finally murmured, giving voice to Joe's fears. The man simply stared at his partner, eyes wide and lips open in a silent 'o' of surprise. It appeared that Joe was not quite as dumb as he looked, and as Angel continued to watch the screens for the slightest sign of threatening movement, Joe set about securing the only door in or out of the office. Sliding the deadbolt and several chains in place, Joe turned to Angel, his expression expectant and his arms folded.

"What do we do?" pressed Joe, his bottom lip visibly trembling as he appealed to Angel, almost seeming to sense that any answers may lie with his partner. He was crestfallen therefore, when Angel simply shrugged.

"I'll be damned if I know," he replied, drawing just the slightest sliver of satisfaction from the panic stricken expression that wavered upon Joe's features.

His gaze befalling the telephone affixed to the wall, Angel reached above the cluster of monitors, and seized the receiver. When he raised it to his ear, he muttered a quiet prayer of thanks as the dialling tone resounded, crisp and clear. He shifted from one foot to the other, nerves threatening to claim him, as he punched in a number from memory and waited for the telltale crackle of the telephone being answered from the other end.

However, the phone continued to ring and, after waiting near a minute without success, Angel stabbed the disconnect button. Immediately, he began to run through numerous contacts in his mind; the first three calls went unanswered, ringing for a torturous and impossibly long amount of time before Angel was forced to give up and move onto the next. When the last of the numbers failed even to ring however, Angel found himself rapidly descending into panic.

He had no plan nor any significant weapons to speak of, and he was hardly eager to pit himself against the bodies outside with his only back-up being a terrified young man who had simply lucked out on interview day.

Angel turned back to the monitors, his mind racing as he struggled to jump each hurdle as it came to him; and that was when the glass coffee pot connected with the side of his head, spilling hot, acrid liquid over his shoulders, and plunging his world into darkness.

**x-x-x**

Time had begun to lose meaning, and Dawn could no longer track where the seconds slipped into minutes, and those minutes passed by into hours. All she knew was her agony, and the fact that it had been alive within her now for too long.

Her eyelids were leaden, but every time they drifted closed- sinking her into blissful oblivion- the pain would rock her once more. Dawn found herself dragged into unwelcome consciousness time and time again, until the idea of death began to seem an inviting one, if only to make it all stop.

Buffy watched from the doorway as Dawn's back arched up from the bed, her swollen stomach rising, and her fingers clawing desperately for anything solid. Spike moved forwards, thrusting his hand into Dawn's and pressing his nose against her damp forehead as she groaned. The grip on his hand was crushing, but it was not his own pain that had Spike chewing on his bottom lip; the vampire was afraid, and it was written plainly in his features for the Slayer to see.

The contractions were coming thick and fast, and the grace between each one seemed almost nonexistent now. In her worry, Buffy had begun to time the pains, and had realised half an hour ago that they were dancing teasingly towards a two minute stop gap. From the little she had read about birth, she knew that everything would be drawing to a head soon, and the thought filled Buffy with an icy fear unlike any other she had endured before.

They had been captives in Giles' apartment for almost seven hours now and, as of yet, Buffy had failed to bring the nightmare to an end. Several hours ago, she and Spike had bandied about impossible escape plans, which they would have been unable to attempt even had they not been accompanied by a labouring, pregnant woman. Even as they discussed the finer details of schemes that both knew they would never implement, Spike and Buffy became more aware that it appeared unlikely they would ever emerge from Giles' apartment with their lives in tact.

When Dawn sank back onto the mattress once more, her chest heaving and her legs stiffened by the receding pain, Buffy beckoned Spike closer.

As the vampire rose from his perch at the side of the bed, Dawn's trembling hand enclosed around his wrist.

"Cold…" she whispered, visibly shuddering no sooner than the word had spilled from her lips; cracked and bloody from the numerous times she had sunk her teeth into them over the course of the night.

Spike frowned, observing the thin sheen of sweat clinging to Dawn's forehead, and the pink flush that adorned her cheeks. Despite having complained of the heat no end for hours, she was now shivering as though she were bracing her body against an arctic chill. Nodding, Spike lifted Giles' duvet and began to tuck it tenderly around Dawn until she was cocooned, and seemed to have settled for a moment.

"Back real soon, love," he murmured, brushing a kiss against her eyelids as they fluttered closed once more. He was uncertain as to whether she had truly registered his words, but as Dawn let out a grumble of agreement, Spike crossed the room to draw level at Buffy's side.

"She's in transition," Buffy hissed, her face paling as she peered up into Spike's eyes.

"She's what?" demanded Spike, shooting a glance at Dawn as a high pitched keening began to leak from her lips again, and he realised that she would have to ride out the storm of the latest contraction alone.

"It means she's got another one to two centimetres to go, tops," whispered Buffy, raking both hands through her hair and affixing Spike with a despairing gaze.

"W-well, how long will that… take?" gulped Spike, splaying one palm against the doorjamb and leaning heavily against the frame.

Buffy shrugged, and Spike's expression darkened.

"Could be a couple of hours, maybe," Buffy replied, shooting a glance back towards the front door. "We have to do something soon, Spike."

The vampire sighed, sagging a little where he stood as he covered his face with both palms, and then regarded Buffy.

"There's no way out of this alive, Slayer, and you know it," he countered, his tone inflected with fear at the implications of his words.

"Maybe if we talk to them…" Buffy began, eyes and tone similarly desperate as she reached for Spike's arm. He shrugged off her grip without fully allowing it purchase upon him, fury contorting his lips upwards into a snarl.

"I don't bloody think so," he replied, shaking his head and glaring, "if you want to try having a little chat with the _Body Snatchers _out there, love, then you go right ahead. But don't come crying to me when they rip both your arms off and use them to beat you over your bloody stupid, blonde head."

"Spike!" Buffy hissed, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at the vampire. "Have I ever told you, you're an asshole?"

"Plenty of times," Spike snapped back, turning on his heel and stalking back to Dawn's side as he yelled out, "but the jury's still out on whether it's a valid appraisal."

He resettled himself at Dawn's bedside, his tone dropping to a soothing purr as Dawn began to toss and turn on the bed once again, too focused on enduring and surviving the pain to have even registered the angry exchange.

Without a word, Buffy slipped back into the lounge, unable to stand idly by anymore whilst the lives of her sister and unborn child hung so delicately in the balance.

Before Buffy had even realised what she was doing, or indeed accepted her own decision, her fingers had closed around the door handle, and her other hand had begun to work at discarding bolts and chains.

The front door of Giles' apartment swung open slowly, revealing Buffy upon the threshold; beyond the courtyard, a sea of desolate eyes affixed upon the Slayer.

**x-x-x**

By the time Angel's body had made contact with the floor, he had already begun to stir from his brief spell of unconsciousness.

He landed on his back nonetheless, finding himself somewhat winded, and blinking rapidly as he urged his eyes to focus upon the figure of Joe- still holding the handle of the shattered coffee pot in one hand.

Angel took in the sight of his partner's milky eyed stare grimly and, in seconds, had twisted his own legs midair in a move that swiped Joe's from under him. The other guard tumbled to the ground, lacking in both the experience and grace that Angel possessed after years in the field.

Angel was on the other man in seconds, straddling his chest and landing two successive blows to his jaw. It appeared that Joe was also stronger than Angel would have given him credit for, and he grappled with Angel to an almost successful end.

Angel delivered another punch to Joe's cheekbone, listening to the resounding crack that heralded a broken bone with a guilty wince.

However, the severity and force behind the punch stunned the other man sufficiently, and Angel managed to flip him facedown onto the ground before securing both of his arms behind his back. Snatching his cuffs from his belt, Angel fastened them around Joe's wrists before flinging him into the easy chair.

Angel touched a finger to his temple and groaned as he withdrew it caked in his own dark red blood. The wound smarted considerably but Angel's vision was unaffected, and he doubted that it would require any more serious attention than a couple of butterfly stitches.

His jaw locked as he returned his full attention to Joe, who now appeared to have nestled rather impassively into the cushions of the chair.

"What are you?" Angel demanded, advancing with one fist balled in a threatening gesture. Joe blinked back up at him, all traces of his former identity evidently absent. His once hazel eyes were now entirely white, yet apparently not unseeing as his head inclined and shifted with every step that Angel took.

"Answer me, damn it?" Angel yelled, drawing level to the chair now and planting one hand on each arm as he leaned down into the face of the security guard. He felt the familiar weight of terror bearing down upon his heart, and Angel shook his head in order to ground himself.

"Where's Buffy?" he continued, contemplating the merits of driving his fist into Joe's face again in an effort to draw out some of his answers. Something told him however that the creature inhabiting the man's body would not be quite so easily alarmed, and so he forced his arms to remain in place either side of the chair.

"What have you done to them?"

Angel allowed the question to hang in the air between them, watching his new captive all the while for even the faintest indication that he might answer. When the thing wearing Joe's face refused to so much as even blink, simply staring up at Angel through the void of it's eyes, he pushed himself away from the chair in anger and began to pace the confines of the room. It was when his back had turned for the second time, that the voice cut through the air.

"_They have not been harmed."_

Angel whipped around, his mouth falling slightly open as he stared at Joe.

"What did you say?" he demanded, barely managing to contain the wariness that had threatened to stain his tone.

Joe seemed to pause for a moment before his lips parted and, in a voice as high and scratchy as nails on a chalkboard, he repeated, _"They have not been harmed."_

Angel paused, his gaze fleetingly moving to the monitors. The face of every man, woman, and child waiting in the darkness was now upturned to the relevant camera, and each of their mouths hung open as though they had uttered Joe's claim alongside him.

"Where are they?" Angel tried again, eyes not moving from the monitors.

"_Safe."_

Every visible mouth had moved, and the room had filled with the collectively uttered word as they had whistled through the speakers.

"What do you want?" Angel snarled, his full attentions now resting with Joe once again.

"_Nothing, and everything."_

Angel frowned and rubbed at his forehead, inhaling sharply as his fingertips brushed the nearby unforgotten wound. The gears in his mind whirred and yet, try as he may, he found himself unable to decipher the cryptic explanation.

"I don't understand," replied Angel, deciding that in the undeniable absence of knowledge, he had little choice other than to speak bluntly.

Joe cocked his head, regarding Angel with an actual expression; one that much to the former vampire's chagrin seemed to be an odd combination of pity and disgust.

Almost a beat later, the creature clarified, _"That which is living, and yet unborn."_

Angel paused, and suddenly every question that had only moments ago plagued him was driven from his mind with the speed of a freight train. The words echoed hollowly around his ears, until understanding brought with it an almost overwhelming nausea and an escalating sense of panic.

"Dawn's baby…" Angel breathed, his throat seeming to constrict, "you want Dawn's baby."

In the dimly lit security office, the creature smiled, and the gesture was mirrored upon over a thousand faces throughout the town of Sunnydale.


	50. Chapter 50

_**Mornings Smile – L**_

'_A beautiful sunset that was mistaken for a dawn'_

_Claude Debussy_

They had spoken en-masse, over a hundred voices raised in unison, somehow sounding as just one. Buffy had been forced to grit her teeth as the answers to questions she had not asked had spilled from their lips, as though the crowd were indeed contributing to some unknown conversation. The sound of her own blood rushing in her ears became almost deafening as the terrible voice began to exert its toll on her eardrums, and yet Buffy hovered at the doorway, determined to gain some ground in this bizarre stand-off that had gone on too long.

As the clamour died down and the crowd became still once again, Buffy hazarded a step across the threshold, her muscles tensing as her body braced itself for imminent contact. When the nearest of the bodies failed to so much as twitch in response to her proximity, Buffy ventured further into the courtyard. She peered from face to face, spotting some familiar, others not, yet all perfectly stoic in their expressions. As she moved through the throng of bodies, her hand ghosting over shoulders and passing through the air in front of unblinking eyes, Buffy could almost feel the raw power crackling in the air above them. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood erect and a knot of dread had settled in the pit of her stomach like a stone that had sunk to the bottom of the riverbed, and still not a single individual made a move towards the Slayer, or indeed the doorway she had left unprotected.

From inside Giles' apartment, the faint sound of Dawn's cries carried on the early morning air, causing none but Buffy to flinch. Pushing her sister's plight to the back of her mind, Buffy continued to weave through the mass of bodies, struggling to glean some degree of insight into what afflicted them. When a complete lap of the courtyard was complete, Buffy returned to the doorstep and crossed both arms in front of her chest.

"You won't let us leave."

When Buffy finally spoke, her tone was surprisingly authoritative, bearing not even a trace of the fear that owned her. She had posed her words as a statement rather than a question, preferring the illusion of power that such a decision provided. She was unsurprised when, after a pause, the head of every man, woman and child began to move slowly from side to side. The Slayer cocked her head, searching for any difference no matter how slight between the townsfolk, and finding none. At the exact same moment, they stilled, waiting patiently as they had done for hours.

"I won't let you hurt them," Buffy continued, venom injected into her promise, affording it added weight. "I swear... if you try to lay so much as a finger on them... I will end you."

Seconds of unnerving silence ticked by before the lips of every upturned face began to twitch into a uniform smile that almost made Buffy's blood run cold. She shuddered as the breeze ensconced her and, with a final defiant glance flung at their captors, Buffy slammed the front door shut and set about replacing the locks with haste. She found her fingers fumbling over the metal, struggling to find purchase on each bolt and chain, which only added to her overall sense of desperation. When she was finally done and satisfied that the only point of entry was once again secure, Buffy stepped back from the door.

The sound of her own name drew her further into the apartment and, within a second, Buffy was thundering down the corridor towards Giles' bedroom. Spike stood at the side of Dawn's bed, his hands hooked under her armpits as he attempted unsuccessfully to haul her into a sitting position. Dawn was breathing heavily, her nostrils flaring with the effort of expelling breath, and her teeth were clamped together so tightly that the action had brought creases to her brow.

"What is it? What's going on?" Buffy demanded, her words tumbling out in a rush that sounded almost unrecognisable. Spike shot the Slayer a look of such unadulterated desperation that Buffy stopped short, poised mid-stride in the steps that would have brought her to Dawn's bedside.

"I... need... to... p-push..." Dawn choked out, her voice raw and her eyes wide as she affixed them upon her sister.

"I thought you said we had hours?" Spike growled, his desperation turning to anger as he rounded on Buffy, who stood her ground with hands on hips.

"Do I look like _'Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman'_?" she hissed back, beginning to peel the covers away from Dawn's legs as she realised the inevitable was finally at hand. Her sister whimpered, cheeks flushed beet red as even despite her pain, embarrassment began to prickle at her. Buffy forced a reassuring smile as she began to work the tracksuit bottoms free from Dawn's leg and discarded them on a nearby chair.

"What the hell have you been doing, anyway?" demanded Spike, his grip tightening on Dawn's shoulders as her body rose from the mattress with the force of another contraction.

"Trying to find us a way out," Buffy retorted, struggling to maintain an even tone as she kept her eyes trained upon Dawn's face. Her lips were twisted into a frown and her brow furrowed, almost as though she were working on a particularly troubling Math problem, as opposed to trying her hardest to ignore the urges her body insisted were undeniable.

"How did that work out for you?" Spike inquired sourly, ignoring the pointed glare that Buffy shot in his direction. He eased Dawn back against the pillows before perching at her side on the edge of the mattress. Carefully, he worked her body back against his own so that the curve of her back rested against his abdomen, and both of his arms encircled her.

"I got you, love," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, "I got you."

"Don't leave," Dawn begged, her eyes alight with desperation and despair as she glanced back over her shoulder at the man who seemed to be the only thing anchoring her to sanity.

"Never."

For just a second, their eyes locked, and a sense of serenity that was wholly unexpected descended upon the occupants of the bedroom. There was peace in the moment and, as Buffy looked upon her sister, a kind of light appeared to radiate from her with such intensity that she was dumbfounded as to how she could possibly have overlooked it all these months. Despite the clumps of hair matted to Dawn's face, the rivulets of sweat glistening upon her cheeks, and the dark circles of exhaustion that coloured the skin beneath her eyes, Dawn had never looked as beautiful as in that moment, when the pain was finally eclipsed by the promise of something worthwhile.

"Don't be scared, Dawnie," Buffy soothed softly, grasping Dawn's bare ankle and offering her sister a smile, which Dawn struggled to return. "Everything's gonna be fine. I promise."

Dawn opened her mouth, the determination to offer a response alight upon her face, when from the lounge, the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground drew Buffy's attention. Shooting a warning glance at Spike, Buffy ducked out of the bedroom, each footfall more determined than the last as she made her way towards the source of the raucous. Stealing herself against the sight of the front door hanging from its hinges, Buffy rounded the corner with both fists raised in preparation, and barrelled straight into the tiny figure of Dr. Kalkirasch.

"Slayer!" the man cooed in a pleasant tone as he righted his crooked glasses on the bridge of his nose, and then brandished the black medical bag clutched in one hand.

"How did..." Buffy began, taking a hurried step backwards as her body was propelled by her mounting suspicions. However, the doctor merely beamed, almost bouncing in delight on the balls of his feet as he regarded the woman observing him with such undisguised mistrust.

"I believe my services are required, yes?" he demanded, stepping forwards and frowning as he found Buffy barring his path to the corridor, and also his patient.

"How did you know?" Buffy pressed, jaw hardening as she maintained a close watch upon the doctor, who appeared nonplussed by such scrutiny.

"I always know when it is time," he replied, neither his tone nor the twinkling light in his eyes unkind. He inclined his bald head slightly in the direction of the bedroom in a silent gesture that sought Buffy's approval to continue. Gnawing on her bottom lip for a moment, Buffy contemplated her options. Whilst the doctor had given none of them cause to doubt his credibility in the time that he had tended to Dawn, his sudden appearance when he was needed most could be considered suspicious at the very least. Buffy had no need to remind herself that neither she nor Spike were equipped to deal with even the most straight forward of births, let alone those that were subject to potential complication, but the decision of allowing the doctor proximity to her sister was one that could not be taken lightly.

"But the baby's early, how did..." Buffy began, shooting a glance at the bedroom door, which hung ajar. Dr. Kalkirasch followed her gaze, nodding patiently despite his evident desire to reach his charge.

"This is all the more reason I must be allowed to intervene," he explained quietly, his words concise and clear despite the thick accent that at other times often muddied them. "I am a shaman, Miss. Summers. It is my job to be attuned to my patient. Your sister requires help that only I can provide her with, but you must make your choices, and quickly."

With a resolute nod, Buffy stepped aside, allowing the doctor to breeze along the corridor and into the bedroom. Following at a respectable distance, Buffy hovered on the threshold of the bedroom, actually wringing her hands in a physical display of the tension that riddled her body and mind.

"Dawn, it is a pleasure as always to see you, my dear," Dr. Kalkirasch crooned, kneeling at Dawn's side and beginning to ferret in his bag. Spike shot Buffy a questioning glance, although he appeared more relieved than anything else to see the doctor.

"Get... this... thing... out!" Dawn groaned, seeming both unsurprised and unconcerned by the appearance of the doctor. She was focused now only upon the pain, which left her feeling as though her body was somehow being torn in two. The urge to bear down was overwhelming, and Dawn found herself employing every last ounce of her will to prevent her body from simply doing what it felt was most natural.

"All in good time," Dr. Kalkirasch promised, snapping on a pair of latex gloves and then laying his open bag on the end of the mattress next to Dawn's feet. He gestured to the girl's legs, stiffened against the linen, and then to Buffy, who he beckoned to his side with the slight curl of one finger.

"I can't do this..." Dawn sobbed, wheeling to face Spike as she demanded through her tears, "just... make it stop..."

Dr. Kalkirasch smiled calmly at his ward, leaning forwards and resting one hand lightly on the mound of her stomach in a gesture that seemed immediately to calm Dawn. Both Spike and Buffy watched transfixed as the doctor locked eyes with his patient, and her crumpled features relaxed as though his touch were akin to a welcome shot of morphine.

"This is work that only you can undertake, Dawn," Dr. Kalkirasch murmured, motioning for Buffy to clamber onto the bed. The Slayer obliged, somewhat confused by the doctor's slow gesticulations, until she realised that she was being instructed to raise Dawn's left leg. Grabbing hold of her sister's ankle, Buffy gently but firmly eased her leg backwards, bending it at the knee and holding it high above the bed. Dawn seemed hardly to notice, her focus now directed on the doctor, who offered her a nod of approval.

"It is time," he continued, both his tone and features alive with excitement. "Today, you welcome a new soul into the world, and your hearts."

A smile affected Dawn's lips and, for a few seconds that felt almost infinite to both Buffy and Spike, the two simply gazed at each other, understanding of what was required of each passing between them with unmistakable clarity.

Then, as the first vestiges of the dawn began to break through the chink in Giles' bedroom drapes, Dawn began the most difficult task that all her eighteen years had asked of her yet. Gritting her teeth against the discomfort, now significantly dulled by the presence of the shaman's magic, Dawn employed the last of her strength.

A subsequent hour and a half passed, the silence interspaced only by Spike's soothing words of comfort as he laid a damp cloth to Dawn's forehead, and Dr. Kalkirasch's quiet, encouraging mumblings. Buffy watched it all with a sense of breathless detachment, amazed by the sudden change in her sister- the undeniable expression of focus, and the very fact that she made not a sound as nature took its inevitable course.

From her position near the foot of the bed, Buffy was privy to more than she had ever hoped to be, and yet she found herself somehow not wanting to look away. And it was with not even the faintest sense of regret that Buffy watched as her niece finally slipped into the world, her tiny, hiccupping cry acting as the catalyst to the Slayer's tears.

"You did it, honey," Buffy choked out, tearing her gaze away from the purplish, wrinkled child, now writhing in the doctor's arms as he worked methodically at clamping and cutting the cord. Buffy shot her sister a look, watching as shock, realisation and ecstasy passed in rapid succession across her wearied features. Dawn's mouth dropped open and, at her side, Spike beamed through the tears that stained tracks down his cheeks. Momentarily, all else had been forgotten in the face of such a miracle.

The doctor began to hum softly as he raised the baby into his arms, appraising her with a look succeeded by a broad smile that conveyed her wellbeing. Finally, he kissed the downy crown of her head, and passed the child into her mother's arms.

Dawn's eyes befell the squirming bundle as soon as it came to rest against her chest, and her lips parted in surprise at how a single thing could appear so perfect at just a glance. She had no need to await the 'rush of love' that she had heard many women speak of – the feeling crashed over her with the strength of waves against the rocks, and Dawn began to commit every last tiny dimple to memory. Spike reached out a trembling hand, awed as he stroked one finger across the baby's cheek, and laughed in mirth as she turned open-mouthed to attempt to suckle the appendage. Her tiny lips, pink still stained with a touch of blue, parted once again to reveal soft gums.

"She's..." Spike struggled to accurately voice such perfection, considering and dismissing at least ten words at once as being just inadequate to describe her. Dawn nodded, glancing up at Spike with adoration shining clearly in her eyes. The couple basked in the moment and, for the first time not feeling out of place or unwarranted, Buffy shared in both their joy and utter awe.

"Congratulations. Everything is as it should be," Dr. Kalkirasch finally spoke, seeming reluctant to interrupt the moment, although he rocked eagerly on the balls of his feet. "She is perfect... all that you hoped for... healthy and human."

"Thank you," Dawn whispered, too entranced by the newborn to tear her gaze away yet. The doctor nodded, un-affronted by the sudden lack of attention, and turned to look upon the Slayer, who was mopping at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan.

"My work here is almost done, and so is yours," he stated quietly. Buffy frowned, her gaze quizzical as she turned it upon the doctor, who without a further word spun on his heel and disappeared from the bedroom. Shooting Dawn a smile that went largely unnoticed, Buffy sped after the man- thoroughly confused, and now with her suspicions peaking once again.

She found him standing by the front door, his bloodied gloves discarded, and his hands busily working at the locks. Buffy opened her mouth, poised to call out a warning, but the front door swung open, too late.

Behind it was revealed the courtyard- empty, peaceful, and now bathed in the glorious mornings light.

**A. N. – Not many chapters to go now. Apologies for the terrible update schedule. I will be truly amazed if people are still reading, so thank you to anyone who is. Followers of my other fics will know that I have spent the latter half of 2011 ill, and repeatedly hospitalised. I am now feeling much better, and am pleased to announce that the Spoon family is once again expanding, with our latest arrival due 26****th**** June 2012. I have spent around a week re-editing this fic for minor errors, so you should now find the earlier chapters improved somewhat. Happy New Year to all. **


	51. Chapter 51

_**'Ballad of a Dove' – LI**_

_**'The sharp knife of a short life,**_

_**Well, I've had just enough time'**_

_If I Die Young by The Band Perry_

A strange kind of high had followed the birth, and the adrenaline continued to pump through Dawn's body long after the paramedics had transferred her to Sunnydale General.

Dr. Kalkirasch had lingered only long enough to oversee the final stage of the labour and ensure that Dawn was both well and comfortable, before he had again utilised a portal to return him to his surgery. Buffy had waited ten minutes as per the doctor's instruction before calling for an ambulance, which had arrived with sirens blaring much to Dawn's mortification. A suitable cover story was concocted, whereby Buffy and Spike explained that Dawn had been unaware that she was in established labour until the urge to push had suddenly overcome her. Far from seeming dubious, the paramedics had accepted the story and congratulated all on a potential catastrophe averted.

Due to the brilliant morning sunshine, Spike had been forced to remain in Giles' apartment, but had vowed to visit that evening just as soon as the sun had begun to dip below the horizon. His excitement had been palpable as he danced around his girlfriend and child, scattering kisses between them and shooting them alternate looks of adoration. Dawn did not doubt the sincerity of his words as he whispered a breathless goodbye, before she was wheeled out to the waiting ambulance, her perfect bundle swaddled in one of Giles' bath towels in her arms. The whole journey had been spent for her simply staring wide-eyed down at the tiny being that slumbered in her arms. The chatter of the paramedics washed over her, largely unheard, and although she knew she must be quite rudely ignoring their questions, she could not bring herself to care.

After a rushed and somewhat confusing conversation with Angel on their cell phones, Buffy had agreed to meet him at the hospital, and followed behind the ambulance in her own car, several times coming dangerously close to falling asleep at the wheel. It was a relief when she was finally able to pull into the parking lot, although she realised too late that the gas tank was dangerously low. By the time Buffy had managed to obtain a much needed coffee from the cafeteria, Dawn had showered, changed into a hospital issue gown, braided her hair, and been assigned her room for the duration of her stay. As Buffy wandered onto the ward, her eyes sweeping the tired and occasionally pained faces of the other new mothers housed there, she happened upon Dawn negotiating her very first diaper change. For a moment, Buffy hung back by the door, watching with curiousity as Dawn's fingers worked at fastening the loudly protesting child into the fresh diaper. With both sticky tabs secured, Dawn lifted the squalling child into her arms and cradled her against her chest, beginning to sway from one foot to the other in a bid to calm her. The baby quieted almost immediately, apparently recovering quickly from the outrage of cold air against her bare backside. A smile passed across Dawn's lips, and she continued to murmur to the babe until Buffy stepped inside the room, clearing her throat.

"You're a natural," Buffy stated, surprised to find herself grinning even as she spoke the words. Although she had long ago come to terms with the fact that motherhood had for the time evaded her, Buffy had still expected to experience some degree of jealously once Dawn's child had arrived. However, Buffy found that, far from resenting the beautiful gift her sister had been awarded, she could not have been happier for Dawn, and for the apparent ease with which it seemed she would slip into her role as a parent.

Blushing a little at the unexpected praise, Dawn shrugged and set about swaddling the infant in a pink blanket stamped with the hospital logo. Buffy made a mental note amongst her scattered thoughts to retrieve Dawn's hospital bag from the house in order to drop it by when she returned for evening visiting hours.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Dawn breathed, licking her lips as she regarded her sister, "she's barely three hours old and already I'm panicking about her first day at kindergarten, and wondering how many tables I'll need to wait to pay her college tuition."

Laughter bubbling up from her throat, Buffy shook her head and gathered Dawn into her arms. Their embrace was brief but Dawn stepped away from it with a genuine smile.

"Angel's going to swing by in a few and then we're heading home to crash," said Buffy, her eyes never once appearing to leave the squirming baby, whose tiny lips were parted in a constant 'o' as she shifted and snuffled into her mother's shoulder.

"Cool," Dawn replied, nodding and offering Buffy a smile, "the nurses keep nagging me to take a nap anyways."

Returning Dawn's smile, Buffy moved forward and gently caressed the back of the baby's head, entwining her fingers with the dark fluff that covered her head like a cap. The child let out a squeak in response and, despite the exhaustion that made her body feel heavy, Buffy's smile widened until it was a grin of unadulterated joy.

"She's going to need a name," the Slayer observed, catching her sister's gaze as the younger woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other and shrugged.

"I'm working on it," she answered, a pink glow blooming upon her cheeks as she avoided Buffy's scrutiny. With a slightly suspicious nod, Buffy leaned forwards and brushed a kiss against the crown of the baby's head.

"I guess I'd better go wait for Angel in the parking lot," Buffy said, affectionately squeezing Dawn's arm and moving forwards in order to kiss her sister's cheek. At the last second, Dawn withdrew, her features drawn into a frown.

"Buffy… what was that back there?" demanded Dawn, her tone strained. She rubbed circles on the baby's back and the infant settled her head into the curve of her mother's body, lulled by the sounds of a familiar heartbeat.

"Honestly…" Buffy began, pausing as she thought back upon the ominous figures that had surrounded the courtyard so swiftly, and disappeared with just as little explanation, "I have no idea. Soon as Angel and I are home, I'll make a few calls. We'll get answers, Dawnie… I promise."

Satisfied for the moment by her sister's promise, Dawn nodded before ducking forwards and kissing Buffy's cheek.

"Thank you…" Dawn murmured, lowering her voice as she realised that the baby's breathing had evened out against her body. "I couldn't have done it without you, Buffy. I know it's something that nobody says enough so… thank you."

Buffy swallowed down the lump that rose in her throat with some difficulty, not wanting to dampen down the joy the day had brought with tears.

"You're always welcome," she replied after a moment of silence had passed.

Turning away from Dawn's bed, Buffy started out towards the hospital elevators, finally filled with the sense that somehow, everything would indeed work out for the best.

**x-x-x**

Despite her most valiant efforts, Dawn had failed to snatch even an hour of sleep during the day, and was holding out very little hope for the foreseeable future. Whilst her own child had slept surprisingly well, waking only a handful of times to feed, Dawn had been subjected to the cries of a dozen other babies in surrounding rooms. Coupled with the constant visits from various staff to routinely check her obs., ply her with painkillers, and offer unnecessary advice, Dawn had given up on the idea of sleep until the evening had rolled round again.

As good as his word, Spike had strolled through the doors of the ward almost immediately after sunset, his black leather duster and tight pants sending several women swooning at the nurse's station. His arms had been weighed down by bouquets of flowers, a string of helium balloons, and a cerise teddy bear that was easily twice the size of the baby. He had wasted little time in lifting the child from her hospital crib, cradling her with a kind of expert ease that both surprised and delighted Dawn. They discussed potential names, laughed at every half comical grimace their daughter executed, and marvelled at how seemingly flawless she appeared even down to the individual wrinkles etched into her knuckles. Spike had gazed at the infant with such open adoration that Dawn knew there wasn't an aspect of her care that she could not trust him with.

Spike had only departed, with great reluctance, when the nurse in charge of the nightshift had bustled into Dawn's room and dismissed him with a scowl and a few curt words regarding the proper end to visiting hours. Rolling his eyes, Spike kissed his girlfriend and daughter goodbye for the second time that day, and Dawn had once again been left alone to feel her way through the minefield that was the first twenty-four hours of parenthood.

As she lay in the darkness, contemplating the newest turn her life had taken whilst listening intently and with a new sense of paranoia to the soft breaths of her daughter, Dawn's eyelids fluttered closed. For now she would sleep, and greet the challenges of the days ahead as they came.

**x-x-x**

In the cool darkness, Buffy lay inexplicably awake, despite the weariness that ran down to her very bones. Beside her, Angel slept soundly, his lips parted and his brow furrowed as though even in slumber he could be pensive. They had discussed the bizarre and disconcerting events of the day at length over a bucket of fried chicken, but had failed to reach a conclusion other than that Giles' help was much needed. After several hours of mindless television, they had relented and practically crawled upstairs to their bedroom, both too tired to prepare for bed more than by kicking off their shoes and pants. Angel had succumbed to sleep within minutes, but it seemed that nothing Buffy did would allow her mind to switch off.

The display on the alarm clock read just after twelve, and Buffy let out a quiet sigh as she entertained the idea of performing a sweep of the local graveyards. However, Buffy failed to move a single muscle, still and almost unblinking in the silence of the wee small hours of the morning.

She shot a further glance at Angel, amused to see a trickle of drool beginning to run from the corner of his lips, before she returned her gaze back to the clock. Buffy let out a strangled gasp as her eyes locked with those of another- narrowed and brimming with malice. The Slayer shot up in bed, pressing her back against the headboard and kicking at the tangle of sheets about her legs. Slamming her palm to her chest, Buffy struggled to regain control over her breathing, and stared wide-eyed into the face of the devil.

Lucy regarded the Slayer with her head cocked to one side, an almost smile flirting with her lips before her expression became once more impassive.

"Shame on you, Slayer, to be caught unaware," the thing wearing the child's face teased, finally grinning and exhibiting two rows of small, pearly white teeth. Buffy felt sick to her stomach, but she gulped down the bile rising in the back of her throat and stared down the creature with determination.

"What do you want?" Buffy hissed, relieved to feel her heart rate beginning to slow to a more normal rhythm. She stole a sly look at Angel, who had failed to stir, and briefly considered raising her voice or somehow nudging him into consciousness so as not to face her adversary alone. Seeming to read her thoughts, Lucy shook her head, braids whipping from side to side.

"Ah, ah," she chided, circling the bed in a predatory move and drawing to a standstill almost by Angel's side, "if you think I'd allow as much, you're more delusional than I first thought."

"I said what do you want?" Buffy repeated, her tone becoming increasingly dangerous. She gripped the sheets beneath her palms unconsciously, trying to ignore the relentless thrum of her heart beneath her chest as she stared at the creature before her. In her time as the Slayer, Buffy had faced many adversaries, but not one could quite compare to the Father of all evil, despite the seemingly innocent guise it now wore.

Lucy pursed her lips and planted both hands on her hips in a gesture that would have been oddly comical were she indeed a child. Instead, however, Buffy found the stance unnerving, and she bit her tongue discretely in order to ground herself. Buffy knew that there could be only one reason that the devil had come calling and, in the next moment, her very worst fears were confirmed.

Lucy beamed, rocking on her heels excitedly as she whispered with hands clasped to her breast, "Oh Buffy, you know why I'm here. Your bill has come due… and it's time to pay up."

**x-x-x**

"_**Tick, tock…"**_

Dawn gasped as she shot up, hands flailing in front of her and her heart leaping into her mouth. Her head whipped around as she surveyed her alien surroundings, suddenly recalling in a rush where she was and exactly how she had come to be there. Filled with a sense of inexplicable unease, Dawn scrambled across the lumpy hospital mattress and made her way across the room to the plastic bassinet. Peering inside, she breathed a sigh of relief as her gaze fell upon the face of her daughter. Dawn watched, entranced, as each breath escaped the tiny puckered lips, and after a few moments, once she was truly satisfied by the child's wellbeing, she made her way back over to her bed and perched on the edge.

She sucked in a few steadying breaths, finding that the alarm that had filled her upon waking had yet to dissipate. Although Dawn knew that she had been in the throes of some kind of nightmare, she was unable to recall the exact happenings of the dream, aside from one specific detail; a child's voice, reverberating in her head with a sing-song quality.

Dawn shuddered and, deciding that the desire to rest had all but deserted her, she reached above her bed in order to flick on the lamp that hung there. Her finger jabbed at the switch and. although there was an audible click, the room was not illuminated as Dawn expected. With a frown, she stabbed at the button repeatedly, unwilling to admit defeat.

That was when the first terrified scream ricocheted throughout the hospital corridors.

**x-x-x**

"No…" Buffy hissed, tears beginning to pool in the corners of her eyes as she regarded the child, who stared back in a predatory manner.

"Oh Buffy, you knew this day would come," Lucy retorted, although her tone was quite patient. Buffy blinked, digesting the almost sympathetic undercurrent to the thing's voice.

"Please…" Buffy began, pushing aside the sheets and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She leaned towards the creature now, her fear reserved only for her family and friends.

"Take me instead," Buffy pleaded, stumbling from her bed and dropping to her knees. She crawled across the carpet, both hands clutching desperately at the hem of Lucy's dress. The child shook her head, eyes wide and sombre.

"You know I can't do that," she lamented, seeming genuinely pained by this fact. Buffy hiccupped a dry sob, raking both hands through her hair and tugging at the roots until a few strands came free in her hands.

"Please!" Buffy screamed, the tears coursing freely now. They slid down the apples of her cheeks and splashed onto the front of her tank top, soaking the fabric and rendering it almost opaque.

Lucy heaved a sigh, small shoulders lifting and falling rapidly with the gesture. The moonlight filtered into the room through a chink in the hastily drawn curtains, and it fell across the creature in a single shaft which illuminated her smile.

As Lucy opened her mouth, Buffy almost groaned out loud as a stabbing pain assailed her heart. She recognised quickly the searing blade of her own guilt, and she reached out to the devil in the darkness in a final, silent plea.

With a toss of her head, Lucy whispered, "It is already done."

**x-x-x**

Dawn snatched the baby from the cot, snaring a tangle of blankets along with the tiny body. She pressed the child close to her chest, one hand snaking around to support the back of her neck. The infant stirred and snuffled but did not fully wake, for which Dawn was thankful as the subsequent screams began.

Attempting to control her frenzied breathing, Dawn racked her brains for a potential way out of the maternity ward that would not lead her past the nurse's station. With some difficulty, she blocked out the cries ringing out around her, and slipped her bare feet into the sandals positioned at the side of her bed.

She pressed her back against the wall and edged her way to the door, knowing without a doubt that their best chance of survival lay beyond the room they were confined in. She uttered soft, soothing shushing sounds in her daughter's ear, and continued to inch towards her escape route.

A further panicked cry from somewhere nearby rang out, and a single tear descended Dawn's cheek as she contemplated the terrible yet very real possibility that she would not be able to protect her child from whatever lay in wait. Swallowing hard, Dawn pushed aside the thoughts, refusing to allow them to overthrow her reason. Instead, she eased the heavy wooden door open, and peeked out into the corridor.

The overhead lights had extinguished, and the entire floor was now deathly silent. Dawn trembled uncontrollably, her heart aching as she considered the possibilities of what had become of the other occupants of the ward, and the staff that cared for them. Sucking in a breath, Dawn struggled to control her wayward, shaking limbs. With a final glance down at the baby in her arms, so innocent and trusting, Dawn found her resolve and, in the next moment, she flung herself out of the doorway and down the corridor towards the emergency exit.

Pain exploded throughout her entire body, but Dawn ignored the aches and niggles that plagued her and pushed down her head in a bid to run faster. She heard the sounds of something in pursuit almost immediately, and a sob escaped her as the clacking of talons against tile accompanied by animalistic growls followed behind.

In her arms, the baby began to wriggle and fret, great sobs wracking her little body as she sensed her mother's distress. Her fist gripped the fabric of Dawn's nightshirt, and the girl was spurred on, driven by the inherent instinct of a mother to protect her offspring at all cost.

Although her legs felt like jelly, Dawn ran faster than she was certain she ever had in all her eighteen years. She pushed through the door of the fire escape with hot, fetid breath upon the back of her neck, and she let out a scream that half stuck in her throat. The door swung closed behind her, and Dawn backed up against the stairwell, waiting for the creature to come crashing through.

When nothing happened, Dawn continued to stare suspiciously at the door for several seconds, before she turned on her heel and fled down the first flight of steps. The baby bounced in her arms, although Dawn cradled her to her chest in her best efforts to protect her fragile neck and head. She reached the bottom of the staircase in less than twenty seconds, and she wasted no time in propelling herself through the door that would lead her onto the ward below her own. Dawn ran through the corridor, her feet slapping noisily against the floor, and her tears were renewed as she heard an unmistakable roar.

Dawn skidded to a halt amongst rows of plastic backed chairs, struggling to get her bearings and calculate where the nearest exit was positioned. She almost wept with joy as she realised that she was within feet of one of the several entrances to the parking lot, and Dawn took off again at speed as the vicious growls drew ever closer.

With the automatic door in sight, Dawn's heart surged, and she forced her aching legs to carry her the final few steps towards safety. Her body connected with the double doors, and they failed to open.

"No…" Dawn yelped, slapping the glass uselessly with one palm and heaving a sob. She shook her head, stealing a glance at her baby, who regarded her mother with wide eyes. Dawn drew a breath sharply and, in that one moment, her mind and heart were filled with such perfect clarity that she was at peace.

Slowly, Dawn leaned down towards the bundle in her arms and brushed her lips against the child's soft forehead. Tears splashed down the bridge of her nose and landed on the baby's head, but she did not cry out, instead continued to gaze up at her mother.

"I will always love you," Dawn whispered, cupping the baby's head with one hand. Her heartbeat slowed in her chest and Dawn's breathing evened out, no longer ragged and noisy. The fear ebbed away, leaving in place only a staunch resolve that would never waver.

Planting a final kiss on the tip of her daughter's nose, Dawn flew across the corridor and tugged at the handle of the janitor's closet. Mercifully, the door yielded and opened, revealing a space dominated by mops and shelves of cleaning fluid. Securing the blankets around the baby, Dawn crouched down and laid her gently on the floor, before pulling a large bucket in front of her to obscure her body from view. Straightening up, Dawn closed the door as quietly as possible then took off in the opposite direction at speed. The pain that tore at the body was no longer of consequence, and Dawn attempted to close her mind off to it.

As she ran down the long corridor, she became aware once again of the sounds of panting, and nails clacking against the floor; this time she rejoiced, knowing that whatever the creature was, it had inadvertently moved past her daughter's hiding place. Dawn pressed on with renewed purpose until her lungs burned, her thighs ached, and finally she reached a dead end.

Dawn rubbed her palm across the smooth plaster of the wall before resting her forehead against it, accepting defeat and now almost embracing it.

In a painstakingly slow movement, Dawn turned around, and her gaze fell upon her attacker. Tears coursed freely down her cheeks and Dawn squeezed her eyelids tight shut, struggling to hold onto the image of her daughter's face in her mind and nothing else.

When the creature eventually pounced, Dawn Summers did not even have time to scream; but, from the recesses of a janitor's closet nearby, a child wailed helplessly.


	52. Chapter 52

_**Division of Souls – LII**_

_White or red?_

_Red or white?_

It had been five days. She had to decide, already. People were getting impatient. They never said as much, but the persevering smiles seemed stretched too thin now.

Willow had looked up the meanings of various flowers and their colours for her in some ancient book- she could never bring Dawn back, but she could look things up. _Helpful._

White for innocence. Red for courage. _Was there a colour for betrayal?_ She doubted it.

What colour said, 'I died because of my sister's stupidity'?

Buffy was having a hard time coping. Or so people were reliably informing her.

The flowers for Joyce had been white. _Would Dawn like the same? Like mother, like daughter. _

Giles placed a mug of tea gently on the table at Buffy's elbow then eased himself down onto the couch at her side. He took off his glasses, cleaned, replaced. He did that a lot. Buffy had noticed more so the last twenty-four hours.

His eyes were red rimmed. Buffy rubbed at her own with clenched fists.

_Tired._ She was so tired.

"Have you made a decision?" Giles spoke softly.

Why was he being so kind? She didn't deserve it. Pity and tea and sympathy were the last things she deserved. She should be the one burning.

_Red. Like fire. Like the flames of Hell. _

"White," Buffy blurted out, and tucked her knees into her chest.

The coroner's report had read 'myocardial infarction'. It hadn't mentioned deals with Satan. Dawn Summers had suffered a heart attack as a result of an undetected genetic defect. Apparently, the toll the birth had taken on her body had been the catalyst for a massive cardiac arrest.

According to the doctors, the baby had indeed brought about the end- _Dawn's_ end. Prophecies were always wide open to interpretation. Giles felt bad about that one, Buffy could tell.

Nobody so far could explain why the baby had been recovered from the hospital janitor's closet. Buffy could take a guess or two. She also knew that the thing that had come for her sister was no heart attack.

"Have you given any thought to…" Giles swallowed, his voice cracked, "music yet? Perhaps a song by Dawn's favourite band or…"

"I haven't paid the phone bill," Buffy interjected, sitting up suddenly and looking about wildly for the telephone. A gentle hand on her shoulder eased her back against the couch.

"I'll have Angel take care of it," Giles promised. His thumb brushed repeatedly across her shoulder.

She didn't deserve comfort. _Was there comfort for Dawn?_

"Thanks," Buffy mumbled into her sleeve. Her stomach growled loudly. She had forgotten to eat again. _Not hungry, anyway._

"Buffy…" Giles leaned forwards, clutched at Buffy's cold hand, "I know this is unbelievably difficult…"

Doorbell.

Was white really the right choice? Too cliché, perhaps?

"Hey Buffy," Willow's tone was full of forced cheer as she entered the lounge, Giles in tow. There was a stack of books in her arms, all old and dusty and capable of more things than Willow was willing to attempt.

Sometimes, Buffy hated her for having such power that she refused to harness. She shook her head. Dispelled the thought. Willow wasn't the one to blame.

Chatter washed over her. Buffy picked out the words 'prophecy' and 'zombies', but she only really switched on again when Giles spoke directly to her. Even then, she watched his lips move to help the words sink into her brain.

"… thinks that she may have solved the mystery of the things that showed up the night Dawn…" Giles trailed off, concern alight in his eyes, "Buffy, are you listening?"

She nodded. Hadn't been listening really, but did it matter now? In the wake of things.

_Wake. _

Buffy shuddered. So much to organise. Too much. Dawn had always been organised.

"Willow believes that she has the answer regarding your mindless possessed townsfolk," Giles repeated, glancing at Willow, who nodded before taking a step forwards.

She'd been back from England for three days, and she already had answers. Typical Willow.

"I swung by Giles' apartment, and the energy almost knocked my socks off… I've only ever felt anything like that once before," Willow stated in a breathy rush, "back in England, when I was connected to the coven."

Buffy was aware her expression was hopelessly blank. It was hard to recall facts these days.

"Willow believes that what you encountered was… well, Nature."

"Nature…" Buffy intoned, forgetting the correct inflection to make it a question rather than a repetition.

"Mother Nature," Willow answered, smile wide. Realising her error, she corrected her treacherous lips. "I've spoken with some of the sisters and they all agree it sounds…"

"Why?" Buffy demanded, unable to inject much conviction anymore.

She picked at a loose thread on her pants, realising she had not dressed again today. Her old Yummy Sushi pyjamas. She'd bought them on a shopping trip with her Mom and Dawn, and her sister had sulked all the way to the movies afterwards because there had been none left in her size. She'd grown into Buffy's only a year later.

Sometimes when Dawn got sick, Buffy would lay the pyjamas out on her sister's bed, and when she was better they would be waiting freshly laundered in Buffy's drawer again.

Water splashed Buffy's knee. Dark, wet circles appeared on her pants.

She raised a hand to her cheek.

_Tears. _

Goodwill could have the pyjamas.

"Our guess is that she wanted to see the baby," Willow answered, frowning in concern as she watched Buffy dry her eyes on her sleeve. "A half-human, half-vampire child goes against every law of nature that has ever existed. If you were the queen bee, wouldn't you want to make sure the child arriving in the world wasn't about to throw off the balance for good?"

"The fact that immediately following the birth all was returned to normal is rather promising indeed," Giles said, a soft smile alive upon his lips. "It suggests that the baby is harmless… just as Dawn insisted she would be."

"I don't have to kill anything?" Buffy checked, brows knitted together. Giles let out a chuckle and shook his head.

"You don't have to kill anything," he confirmed.

Buffy nodded. _Good_. She curled her knees up onto the sofa and leaned against Giles, sighing when he wrapped one arm around her body.

_Tired._ She was so tired.

"Buffy, if there's anything I can do…" Willow began, tailing off at the hopeless look behind Buffy's eyes. She swallowed down the diatribe, almost choking on it.

Buffy regarded her oldest friend, recognising the sympathy written upon her features. If only she knew.

Then again, would it alter much? After all, both Angel and Giles were aware, but neither had been anything but supportive and steadying. The antithesis of everything she deserved.

When Mrs. Collins from three doors down had knocked on the door with a casserole on Thursday and declared that Dawn had gone to a better place, Buffy had punched her in the jaw. Angel had wrestled her back into the house, ignoring her enraged screams, and Giles had chased after the middle-aged mother of five to talk her out of pressing charges. The cops had yet to show up at the door, so Buffy presumed that he had been successful. She hardly cared anymore, anyway.

Angel had tipped the casserole into the garbage disposal, refusing to eat it out of loyalty to his wife. She loved him all the more for the gesture, and hated herself all over again for what she had brought upon them.

There was a poem she had read in English class back at Hemery in L.A. The poet and the title were forgotten, but Buffy had held onto the memory of the content long after the other details had faded. She supposed Giles would recall if she were to mention it, but talking required too much effort. Better to be quiet.

It had spoken of death and of the divisions of souls that comes along with it. At the time, Buffy had not been jaded enough by life to fully comprehend the meaning of the prose but, as time had passed and the list of loved ones lost had grown, the poem could have become the Slayer's mantra.

It certainly felt as though some part of her soul had been ripped away along with Dawn. Two souls existing in separate planes now, and her own seeming fractured beyond repair as a result.

It hurt to breathe, again. Usually, that was a sure sign that the sobs were bubbling up from her chest. Buffy covered her mouth with her palm, determined to hold the tears back.

"Buffy, we're so sorry we weren't here," Willow whispered, her eyes shining in the dim light with unshed tears.

Buffy shook her head. Resisted the urge to giggle.

Worst case of misplaced guilt, ever.

"It's ok, Will," she choked out, running her hand through to the ends of her hair. She frowned as the pads of her fingers came away somewhat sticky with grease, and she wracked her brain to recall when she had last showered.

Maybe Wednesday.

"I just… if I could change this…" Willow began, hesitating as Giles shot her a harsh look.

"It wouldn't be her," Buffy whispered, shaking her head sadly. Her own logic and reason told her that Dawn's soul was somewhere unreachable now.

Giles nodded in approval.

"We'll continue phoning round family and friends," Giles said quietly, planting a kiss on the crown of Buffy's head before he climbed to his feet and beckoned Willow with a glance. "Try to get some rest, Buffy."

She nodded. Leaned her head back against the couch cushion.

Closed her eyes against the pain and the relentless, gnawing grief.

_Red or white?_

_White or red?_

It had been five days.

**A.N. – The tone of this chapter was quite obviously very different from all the others. I wanted this to be about Buffy's utter desolation, and so I hope that came across. The best way, in my opinion, to reflect grief and guilt is through simplicity. **

**When you are lost in grief, you see more of the black and white, and far less of the grey in-between. Just the very act of living is painful, and sometimes we fixate on the trivial just to keep ourselves breathing. I hope I got that across. **

**Reviews are welcome creatures. **


	53. Chapter 53

_**The Dying of the Light –LIII**_

'_Rage, rage against the dying of the light…'_

_Dylan Thomas_

The day Dawn Summers was laid to rest it rained relentlessly.

The afternoon sky was overcast and grey, the sun hidden behind a mass of cloud that allowed Spike his chance at goodbye, wrapped inside a trench coat and a fishing hat that at any other time would have been comical. The vampire huddled beneath a weeping willow, his collar pulled up high, and his shoulders trembling. He cut a bizarre figure, and the throng of mourners gave him an understandably wide berth; some of Dawn's high-school friends exchanged whispered stories about the mysterious and dangerous older boyfriend, and even though Spike's heightened vampire hearing detected every word with perfect clarity, he was too broken to even begin to care. Let them talk.

Buffy stood at the graveside, clinging to Angel's arm. She was reminded of the day that her mother had been buried in the same ground, and Buffy's head reeled as though she had just stepped off the tilt-o-whirl.

Buffy had needed to be the strong one that day- the rock for her baby sister who was much too young to handle the adult situations that life had thrown at the Summers girls. However, no such stoicism was necessary now, and Buffy cried until her lungs burned with the effort of it.

Behind, Willow, Xander, and Giles stood in a neat line- all that remained of their family. Their arms were interlinked, and every so often one of the three would retract a hand to wipe at their own teardrops. Willow kept her puffy and red face downcast and, although standing tall, Giles hid behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Ironically, it was thus perhaps Xander, with his ruined eye, who saw most.

Buffy hardly heard a word the minister spoke throughout the entire service, too distracted by the great effort it took to prevent the bile she felt rising in the back of her throat from making an appearance all over her shoes. By the time the coffin was lowered into the ground, Buffy's head was spinning so badly that she was forced to lean her entire weight against Angel, who bore it without complaint.

Slowly, he manoeuvred them both forward, and cast a handful of dirt atop the lid of the mahogany coffin. Brushing a gentle kiss against the crown of Buffy's head, Angel guided her hand into the pile of soil, and watched as her fingers came to life of their own accord. Only Spike refrained from the pointless act, and instead spun on his heel as soon as the first grains of soil connected with the solid wood.

Buffy became vaguely aware of Willow murmuring an ancient foreign prayer under her breath, and then she was encapsulated in more well-meaning embraces than she was certain her fragile mental state could handle. A string of forgotten relatives passed her by, clasped her hands, kissed her cheeks, and uttered heartfelt, teary-eyed condolences that Buffy found herself only half able to digest.

Hank Summers did not attend the funeral or wake; an intention he had made clear several hours earlier via a voicemail message left on Buffy's cell phone. Giles had returned the call from the privacy of the upstairs bathroom, but nonetheless Buffy and Angel had no difficulty in hearing every word and expletive flung at Hank by the usually mild-mannered ex-librarian. Giles had returned downstairs with tousled hair and a somewhat manic glint in his eye, before declaring that 'the situation had been addressed accordingly'. Buffy had watched him throw back two glasses of Scotch in quick succession before he had wordlessly departed to don his suit and tie, and the name Hank Summers had not passed anyone's lips for the rest of the day.

The gathering at the Summers' home following the service was modest; one or two of Dawn's teachers, a handful of close friends, and a smattering of neighbours who Buffy assumed were more curious than filled with any overwhelming desire to pay their respects. Willow and Xander dutifully handed out drinks and made sandwiches, whilst Giles and Angel fielded well wishes and the odd probing question.

On the mantel above the fire, 'congratulations' cards mingled with messages sent 'in deepest sympathy', creating the most bizarre paradox. Those who had purchased gifts for the new baby left them nonetheless, although they had refrained from wrapping them, or even leaving a gift card to indicate responsibility. Angel swept the gifts quickly aside, creating a space for them in an empty kitchen cupboard, and resolved to ask Spike what should become of them once things had settled down.

All the while, Buffy curled up in an armchair by the window with a mug of coffee in her hands growing steadily colder. She watched the sky darkening further, oblivious to the sounds of mourners leaving around her, and allowed herself to sink into the quiet recesses of her own mind.

**x-x-x**

In all his one hundred and sixty years, Spike had never felt so lost or alone.

He stumbled along the sidewalk with the empty bottle of whiskey clutched in his right hand like it was his only lifeline, and chuckled mirthlessly as he passed by a young couple in the throes of a passionate clinch. The guy shot him a dirty look, which Spike met with a leer that would have made Angelus proud. Deciding that the filthy, evidently drunk, and somewhat rancid smelling stranger was more trouble than he was worth, the boy slid his arm through his girlfriend's and lead her back towards the main street.

"Yeah… go on…" Spike slurred, smashing the neck of the bottle he clutched against the wall as an afterthought, "get out of here… with your puppy dog eyes and your…"

He belched loudly, the sound interrupting his diatribe, and the vampire frowned as he found that the insult poised on the tip of his tongue had been forgotten. He flexed his fingers, his eyes ticking to his hand as he recognised the faint scent of iron in the air, and he became vaguely aware of something thick and warm beginning to trickle down his wrist. A piece of glass was embedded in his palm, but Spike simply cocked his head to one side as he surveyed the wound, which would have doubtlessly required stitches had he been human.

"Well bloody hell…" he muttered, grunting as he seized the shard between his thumb and forefinger and yanked it out in one swift motion. He flicked the shrapnel into the gutter, aware that his skin was already in the process of knitting back together, and turned his attention to the building he had drawn to a halt before.

The sounds of jukebox music, throaty laughter, and the clinking of glasses drifted out onto the street from an open window, and Spike's lips curved into a lopsided smile as he realised that he was standing on the sidewalk outside _'Willy's'_. Decision made, Spike stumbled purposefully through the doorway, the overhead bell announcing his arrival long before the stench of alcohol clinging to him.

All eyes in the bar were immediately upon him, but Spike made it to the counter without intervention. Several more scaly patrons, having heard of Spike's recent reputation for do-gooding and parading round with the Slayer, surreptitiously made for the exit, leaving only a handful of human males lingering, who all looked as down on their luck as Spike felt.

"Willy, old pal…" Spike called, raising one arm in greeting to the barman, who gazed back at the vampire with only sympathy present upon his weasel-like face.

"Hey Spike," Willy replied, already beginning to fill a shot glass, which he then proceeded to slide across the bar to Spike's waiting fingers. "On the house."

"Course it is," answered Spike, tossing back the drink and then slamming the glass on the stained wood, "we're partners… buddies… chums…"

Nodding, Willy wordlessly refilled the glass and set it before the vampire, who fell upon it as though it were some vital medicine.

"I heard about… well, that is… some of the regulars, they…" Willy began, eyes downcast as he swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to continue, "your girl… she was a real good woman and… I'm sorry, is all."

A snort rose involuntarily deep from the recesses of Spike's liquor drenched throat, and the vampire's lips parted as he prepared to deliver a condescending retort. However, in his mind's eye, the image of a dark haired young girl flickered to life, and Spike's mouth closed of its own accord. Suddenly, she was everywhere; her perfume reminiscent in the scent of the floral air freshener that permeated the room, her voice present in the sweet and melodious tones of the song echoing from the jukebox, and the ghost of her touch against his cold, dead cheek haunting him when furls of cigarette smoke wove in the atmosphere around him. It was more than Spike could bear.

He began furiously attempting to blink back the tears long after they had started to fall, and he choked on a sob that wrenched itself from his chest. His head fell forward and the glass toppled from the bar, shattering on the floor at his feet, but Spike made no move to retrieve it, only rested his forehead against the grain and heaved great sobs that would have suffocated any breathing man.

"Ok, party's over, early close tonight, boys," Willy said quietly but forcefully as he began to round up the final patrons, one of whom he literally shoved out onto the sidewalk in his haste to bar the door. Pulling the blind down across the window, Willy moved to Spike's side and perched somewhat hesitantly on the adjacent stool. Reaching out a trembling hand, Willy patted the vampire's shoulder and, before he knew it, Spike was in his arms.

"Hey… it's ok, man…" Willy soothed, simultaneously disturbed by but sympathetic towards Spike's sobs.

"No… it's… it's not," Spike stated, his voice clouded by misery as he finally gathered enough of his wits to pull away from the barman and affix him with an embarrassed stare.

Handing Spike the rag he had been using to wipe down tables, Willy reached behind the bar and seized two more shot glasses, which he set down before them. He tipped an equal measure of vodka into each glass and raised his own almost daintily between his thumb and forefinger.

"To Dawn…" he offered, tipping the glass somewhat and sloshing a little of the clear liquid onto his already grubby trousers. After a moment of hesitation, Spike seized his own glass and mirrored Willy's gesture.

"To Dawn," he whispered, wiping at his eyes with the rag before downing the shot in one.

"You know… I've never really been in love…" Willy said gently, reaching for the bottle again in order to refill his glass, "heard it's a real head trip though."

Spike grunted in acknowledgement, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head in order to dispel the haze that was beginning to cloud his mind as a result of too much alcohol consumed too quickly. It was a rare sensation for a vampire, but not altogether impossible given the fact that blood still played a major part in the functioning of his body.

"You don't look so good," Willy observed, but not unkindly as he returned to his position behind the bar and paused in order to squash a cockroach that scurried across the counter. Spike arched an eyebrow as Willy's palm slammed down on the creature with a wet thwacking sound. Unconcernedly, Willy then wiped his hand down the leg of his pants, before running it through his hair.

"Guess I don't feel so good," replied Spike, moving towards the bottle and then suddenly thinking better of it. He allowed his hand to fall back to his side, affixing Willy with the weight of a serious gaze.

"How do you carry on when the one thing you ever loved in the world is gone?" Spike asked, his voice a quiet, uncharacteristic murmur. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, and the unshed tears that lingered there were iridescent in the overhead lights.

Willy seemed to deliberate over this for several moments before he sucked in a breath.

"I guess you find something worth carrying on for real quick or else… you make the choice to lay down in the dirt," he said, shrugging almost apologetically as he realised how unhelpful his response was.

Softly, and without daring to raise his eyes to meet Spike's, Willy probed, "Do you got something worth carrying on for, Spike?"

Spike frowned, and his mind was awash with images of the immeasurable creases between tiny fingers. He did indeed have something worth carrying on for; but he did not even know her name.

_**Author Note – I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season, and that 2013 is off to an amazing start for you. **_

_**This fic is very nearly complete now, I'm sure the long suffering among you will be thrilled to hear! Sit back for a tad more angst and… well, I'm not going to tell you now, am I?! **_

_**Reviews feed my muse. She has a healthy appetite. **_


	54. Chapter 54

_**Awake –LIV**_

"_**Where are you,**_

_**And I'm so sorry,**_

_**I cannot sleep,**_

_**I cannot dream tonight…" **_

_I Miss You by Blink 182_

It seemed so inherently wrong to Spike that his daughter's first home would be a crypt, and yet it was inevitable. The irony of introducing something so precious and new into an environment that was decrepit and dead was not lost on the vampire, and he worried on it from the moment the hospital called to say he could collect 'baby Summers' to the moment she was placed back into his arms. The absolute worst thing about the situation was that he knew Dawn would have hated the decision, and perhaps even hated him for making it.

However, Spike simply could not bring himself to accept the invitation to move into the Summers' home that Buffy had been ramming down his throat for days. Although he knew that Angel and Buffy would be on hand to provide all manner of help that he may require as an undead, clueless, and single father of a newborn, he balked at the potential for their interference, and at the thought of spending every moment in the house in which Dawn's laughter had once echoed.

Spike had left the hospital giving out a fake address to correspond with the fake name he had earlier presented, before carrying his daughter the whole seven blocks to the cemetery, wrapped tight in a soft yellow blanket that still carried remnants of Dawn's scent. All the way, Spike gazed at the baby, lost in a current of wonder and grief. For a long time, he would simply be treading water, but at least he now had a reason to refrain from drowning altogether.

He had made some preparations for the baby's homecoming, and had enlisted Willy's help in assembling the crib that he and Dawn had purchased, as well as procuring a number of portable heaters to ensure the baby would be kept warm at all times. An old chest of drawers was stocked with diapers and clothing that seemed too tiny to comprehend, and bottles of formula stood in the refrigerator, next to the blood bags, in regimental rows. However, Spike knew that a crypt could only be a temporary measure; that his own conscience and love for his child would not allow her to be raised in the dark, sometimes terrifying shadows of a graveyard mausoleum.

As he had weaved his way through the tombstones, the baby continued to sleep in his arms, peaceful and perfect as all sleeping children are. However, the very moment that the old mausoleum door had swung shut behind them with a creak of rusty hinges and a resonating bang that never failed to jar Spike's bones, the baby had started up a serious of caterwauling cries.

Spike's first course of action had been to replace her diaper; a chore that had not been undertaken for some hours. As soon as he had gently unbuttoned the baby's onesie and freed her legs, her cries had only grown in fervour, and she had begun to rake at her face with her nails in such a way that Spike was certain that she would claw her own eyes out. He had struggled then to slide a pair of mittens onto her miniature hands for a matter of her own protection, but each time he succeeded in securing one and moved on to tackle the other, the baby managed to free her hand again. Giving up after no less than a dozen attempts, Spike simply changed her more quickly than he had done anything in over one hundred years.

When his efforts had failed to soothe her screams, Spike had set about warming a bottle, only to overheat it in the microwave. Ten more lengthy minutes of shrieking elapsed before the milk was cooled enough for Spike to pass the teat through the baby's lips. However, instead of suckling, the infant turned her head and angrily screwed up her face, pushing the nipple from her mouth with her tongue.

Spike had systematically moved on to rocking, bouncing, swaying, and even singing The Cure's greatest hits, but the baby had not relented in her fury. She simply continued to cry, and with each minute that passed, Spike's heart broke a little more.

Finally, he sank down onto the dusty couch and cradled his daughter to his chest, rubbing soothing circles across her back as she hiccupped sobs and snuffled into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, love," Spike murmured, pausing to rest a kiss to the side of her head, "without your Mum, I'm clueless."

His words only seemed to upset the baby further, and she thrashed in his arms as she squealed and her cheeks grew pinker. Spike let out a world weary sigh. He wondered how he would ever come to terms with his failure to protect Dawn in the face of his current failure as a father, and for just a second, he considered turning to the bottle of vodka buried at the back of the refrigerator for the answer. However, the thought was gone as rapidly as it appeared, and Spike rose to his feet to walk another lap of the mausoleum in a renewed bid to calm the baby. All thoughts of liquor were pushed to the back of his mind; she deserved that at the very least.

Spike's head whipped around as the door to the crypt creaked, swinging open suddenly to reveal Xander standing on the threshold with one hand buried in the pocket of his jacket, and his good eye nervously sweeping his surroundings. A stake stuck out of the waistband of his jeans, but Spike chose to assume that the weapon was a precaution against the fanged nasties he may meet whilst wandering one of Sunnydale's most popular cemeteries at close to midnight.

Xander's gaze finally rested upon Spike, and his lips twisted into a grimace of displeasure as the baby's shrieks caused his eardrums to pop.

"What do you want?" Spike demanded above his daughter's furious roars. He turned the full force of his meanest sneer upon Xander, who stepped into the crypt un-intimidated and uninvited. He paused to close the door behind himself before he crossed the floor and drew to a halt in front of Spike.

"Here, let me," Xander stated, reaching for the baby. Spike instinctively drew her closer to his chest, shaking his head at Xander.

"She's fine right here," he snapped, still bouncing from one foot to the other.

"Yeah, yeah, you got this," Xander replied, rolling his eye and gesturing with both hands for Spike to deposit the baby in his arms. "Come on, I'm serious."

Spike continued to glare at Xander for several moments before shooting a glance at his daughter, who was still squirming and screaming in his grasp. Drawing in a sharp breath, Spike hesitantly handed the baby over.

"Hey there, little lady," Xander crooned, lifting the baby up onto his shoulder and beginning to gently yet vigorously pat her back. Spike watched, his eyes narrowed.

"Careful," he chastised, "she's not a bloody…"

However, his words died on his lips as the baby opened her tiny mouth, and a loud belch resonated around the crypt. A thick trail of milky spit up snaked down Xander's shoulder, but as the baby fell quiet, he hardly seemed to notice nor care.

"How did…" Spike began, shaking his head and sighing before finally sinking back onto the cushions of the couch. Xander continued to rub the baby's back, his palm moving swiftly over the fabric of her cream onesie.

"My cousin has a couple of kids," Xander replied, peering analytically at the baby with a half-smile playing out across his lips. He added quietly, almost as an afterthought, "She looks a lot like her Mom."

Spike leaned forwards, propping his elbow on his knees and allowing his head to fall into his splayed palms. He was completely silent, and Xander watched with a sympathetic expression playing across his features as he recognised the composure of a man in throes of grief. It was not so long ago that the face that stared back at him in the mirror had reflected the very same.

"You're lucky, you know," said Xander eventually, moving to stand in front of Spike with the baby still cradled to his chest. He was enjoying the warmth of the tiny, snuffling body, and the way the child buried her face almost instinctively into him. It was something that Xander had once contemplated having with Anya, but something he had just recently come to terms with that he would not.

Spike glanced up and, although no tears descended his cheeks, they were clearly glistening unshed in the corners of his eyes. Xander knew what it was like to reach the point where crying just did not seem to be enough anymore, and he found his heart actually aching a little for the vampire.

"You still have a piece of her left," Xander continued, his good eye darting to the crown of the baby's head as she began to succumb to the pull of exhaustion. Her tiny fist drifted to her mouth, and she sucked at her fingers for comfort.

Spike's lip curled, and he rounded on Xander in the next moment, "Of course I know that. Do you think I'm a complete bloody wanker?"

Xander simply shrugged his shoulders slightly, his expression speaking for itself on the matter.

"I'm the lucky one," Spike ranted, scratching his head with both hands simultaneously and glaring at the floor as though the power of his gaze alone could bore a hole in the concrete. "She isn't. She's the one who's stuck with me. What do I contribute to this God-forsaken hell-hole of a planet? If it had been me instead…"

"But it wasn't," Xander interjected, his voice raised a little to convey his point, "and the sooner you deal with that and stop feeling so sorry for yourself, the sooner you can step up to the plate and be the Dad this little girl deserves."

"The Dad she deserves doesn't have bags of blood lined up in the fridge for brunch," growled Spike, pushing away from the couch and beginning to stride around the crypt again. "The Dad she deserves wouldn't have brought her home to a mausoleum."

"Buffy and Angel made you an offer," Xander stated, his tone sharpening as Spike rolled his eyes, "maybe you should consider taking them up on it, instead of wallowing here in whatever this is."

Spike had crossed the room in less than a second, using his vampire speed to his advantage, and bringing himself nose to nose with Xander, who barely even flinched at the proximity of the vampire. In her sleep, the baby emitted the softest sigh, and Spike blinked in surprise. Instantly, his anger evaporated, and he averted his gaze from Xander's. His apology was scrawled all over his drawn features, but Xander merely shook his head, conveying that there was no need to verbalise anything.

"I just…" Spike began, echoing the baby's sigh as he trailed off helplessly.

"You can't imagine how you're going to get out of bed each morning, get dressed, go to work, laugh with your friends, go to the grocery store, pick up the dry cleaning, or order take-out pizza, without her there to tell you you're doing it all wrong," Xander said quietly, his fingers toying with the infant's soft hair absently, "you can't think about how you'll never get to kiss the tip of her nose again, smell her shampoo when she thinks you're just hugging her, or have her ask you if her perfect ass looks fat in those jeans."

Spike stared, his lips parting and his mouth falling open in a silently respectful 'o' of understanding.

"You don't want to face the fact you'll never get to see her eyes crinkle when she smiles again, or have her force you to watch the same Tom Hanks movie seven nights in a row, or yell at you for putting a white towel in the laundry with black pants. But sooner or later, you're going to have to think about all those things… you're going to have to face them… because running from them – that's the way to betray her memory, right there. You can't pretend those things don't hurt; you shouldn't want to. You can learn to live with it, be the best father you can be, and make sure your daughter gets to have everything her Mom would ever have wanted for her because, if you don't… well, then you're not the man that Dawn thought you were."

Spike remained quiet and unmoving, failing to even glance up as Xander approached him and then carefully shifted the sleeping baby into his arms.

Xander's smile was brief but tender as he gazed at the infant's face.

"For what it's worth, I was wrong about her, and I'm sorry," he murmured, touching the crown of her head with the tips of his fingers before quickly lowering his hand to his side. "I'll swing by tomorrow evening, help you pack up your things ready to move in with Buffy."

Spike grunted in reply, but Xander knew that it was more due to the fact that he was struggling to swallow down the lump that had arisen in his throat, rather than any real arrogance or attempt at mutiny at the suggestion.

Nodding in understanding, Xander sauntered towards the door of the crypt, only pausing to turn back to Spike once he had reached the threshold.

"She's going to need a name sooner or later," Xander stated, allowing his words to hang in the air between them, before he turned on his heel and disappeared back out to the graveyard, gathering the collar of his jacket around his throat.

With his head bowed, Spike continued to stare at his child, and said nothing.

**x-x-x**

It was the early hours of the morning, and still pitch black, when Spike emerged with a start from the fitful slumber he had no recollection of drifting into. His eyes went immediately to the crib next to the couch, where the baby continued to sleep soundly, her chest rising in a steady rhythm that a parent could become easily transfixed by.

Slowly, Spike swung his legs over the side of the couch, and rose to his feet. Every last nerve was alive, but Spike remained uncertain as to what exactly had drawn him back into consciousness so abruptly. He only knew that they were no longer alone in the mausoleum.

His hand slid into the waistband of his pants, and Spike withdrew the gnarled stake he had elected to conceal there.

The air around him was ice cold, and Spike was certain he would have shuddered had his body temperature not been at a constant low anyway.

"I know you're there," he called out, his voice shaking a little as he shot a discrete glance at the baby, who flexed her fingers as she slept on contentedly. Gripping the stake tighter, Spike circled around the back of the couch, his eyes sweeping every crevice of the crypt for signs of movement.

"Show yourself," he demanded, his tone more certain and forceful now as anger began to prickle at him. He would make whatever scaly bastard that had broken into his home pay, and he was fairly confident he would do so without even breaking a sweat. He began to realise, too little too late, that he should have taken Buffy and Angel up on their offer sooner rather than later. It pained him to admit that Xander had had a point.

Spike stiffened as a tendril of frosty air drifted past his earlobe, and he felt it brush against his cheek almost as though fingers were caressing him.

"I don't like to play games," he growled, his fury building. His features contorted, and Spike realised that he wore the face of his demonic counterpart now. His fangs skimmed his lower lip and he emitted a low snarl of warning.

However, as a familiar voice spoke his name from the darkest corner of the crypt, and a brilliant and blinding white light began to permeate the room, the fangs and ridges melted away to reveal the heartbroken face of the young man.

Gently, Spike whispered, "Dawn?"

**A. N. – Wow, again I suck with the updates. I hope this chapter made up for that at least a little. Just two more chapters to go now, and then… well, you'll see! Reviews are love.**


	55. Chapter 55

_**Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep –LV**_

'_Now I lay me down to sleep,_

_I pray the Lord my soul to keep,_

_If I shall die before I wake,_

_I pray the Lord my soul to take.'_

_- Prayer_

When she slept, the dreams came. They were not nightmares, per se- there was no screaming or blood or any other horror capable of forcing her to wake in a cold sweat. Instead, there was laughter and light and visions of a familiar smile. In her dreams, Dawn lived; she continued to borrow clothes without asking, to forget to rinse out the tub after washing her hair, and to steal kisses from Spike when it appeared that nobody else was looking. She was iridescent and vivid, and everything that had been stolen from her by the cruel hand of death. And so, Buffy refused to sleep, because, in some strange way, these dreams of what should have been were harder to endure than any nightmare ever could be.

Perhaps worse was the fact that her dreams were on occasion so real that Buffy had awoken to exist in several blissful seconds of believing them to be reality. Once her memories had come flooding back to her, Buffy was hit anew with the full force of her grief, and after a week of as much, she was uncertain that she could go on.

So, the Slayer rebelled against her own body's desire for rest. She spent her evenings hunkered down in front of the shopping network, her features lighted by the glow from the TV screen, as her eyes focussed on the images that her mind refused to digest.

Angel had given up attempting to coax her to bed, knowing that this was simply a phase of her grief that she would need to work through in her own time. He brought blankets and bowls of popcorn until his own fatigue forced him to admit defeat. Then, Buffy was left alone with the remote control and her thoughts.

Giles had begun to broach the subject of counselling and, whilst Buffy secretly agreed with him, she worried over the idea of popping open that particular can of worms. The crushing guilt that weighed on her as a result of Dawn's death was thoroughly deserved in her eyes, and she was not yet ready to begin attempting to alleviate herself of it. Whether or not she had made her decision based on her desire to protect the world, the fact remained that Buffy had inadvertently killed her sister. For that, she would never truly forgive herself.

Angel had been forced to return to work, but the rest of the Scooby gang had decided unanimously that Buffy would be taking a short sabbatical from Slayer duties. Reinforcements had been sent from Rome, and the two potentials in question, who Faith assured Giles were the most promising girls in her care, were set to make themselves at home in Sunnydale for the foreseeable future. Whilst Buffy knew that, one day the call to duty would be too loud and persistent for her to ignore, it was not yet, and so she was content to remain inactive until such a time came.

If she were to be entirely truthful with herself, Buffy knew that she was waiting for some kind of divine sign that it was permissible for her own life to continue. She had never been one to petition gods, but lately she had found herself doing little else.

However, one thing Buffy Summers had not expected was an answer to her prayers.

It was almost a fortnight after Dawn's death when, after hours of watching foreign cookery shows and documentaries about fallen civilisations, the television set suddenly began to flicker without warning. Buffy frowned as the image of 'Cassoulet' that had dominated the screen disappeared from view, replaced instead by a million infernal black and white dots.

Puffing out an irritated sigh, Buffy had barely begun to heave herself off the couch before the fine hairs on the back of her neck were erect, and a faint but icy breeze whistled passed her ear. Buffy was aware of the presence occupying the vacant spot on the couch before she had even turned around, but nothing could have prepared her for the face that stared back at her.

"Dawnie…" Buffy choked out, stumbling backwards several paces in shock as her wide eyes drunk in the sight of her sister.

Dawn's smile was immediate, and in silent awe Buffy noted the brilliant light that shone from her every pore. It was almost blinding and Buffy found herself squinting as she surveyed the apparition of her sister. There was an ethereal quality about her and she stared back at Buffy, unmoving.

When she finally spoke, Buffy shivered involuntarily at the soft lilt of her voice.

"You were expecting the tooth fairy?" Dawn inquired, her head cocked to one side as her lips twisted into a mischievous grin. Buffy's mouth fell open, and the tears began to trip her pallid cheeks.

The Slayer was on her knees in the next instant, neither knowing nor caring if the vision before her was that of her sister or, in actuality, some cruel hoax on the part of the thing that had taken her. However, it was so good to look upon Dawn's face again that Buffy could not bring herself to care if death was to be dealt to her imminently.

"I… Dawn… I'm so sorry…" Buffy hissed, her chin dropping to her chest as she struggled to regulate her breathing, which had grown erratic and raspy.

Dawn's brow furrowed, and she shook her head slightly at her sister as she demanded, "About what?"

Buffy hesitated, uncertain as to whether her presumptions regarding the clarity of death were somewhat unfounded in Dawn's case. Certainly, she seemed to recall from her own brief jaunt to Heaven that she had acquired a kind of omniscience regarding all that occurred in the lives of her family and friends. However, her features darkened as Buffy realised that Heaven was not a destination that had been promised to her sister, as a particularly vicious clause of the contract that she had signed in blood.

"It's my fault," Buffy stated, raising her chin in order to meet Dawn's gaze squarely, indirectly accepting responsibility. All she saw reflected in Dawn's eyes was understanding, and Buffy almost crumbled again.

"I know what you did, Buffy," Dawn replied and, although her tone was subdued, it was not accusatory as she added, "and I know why you did it, too."

"I'm so sorry, Dawnie. I should never have…" Buffy began, stumbling through a garbled apology even as she gasped for breath.

Dawn shook her head, climbing to her feet and taking several measured steps towards her sister. Slowly, Buffy allowed her eyelids to flicker closed, and Dawn reached out a hand almost tentatively. She rested her palm on the crown of Buffy's head with a sad smile, which the Slayer returned as her eyes fluttered open once more.

"I know you'd take it back if you could," Dawn said gently, her palm sliding down the side of Buffy's head and across the apple of her cheek, "but even if it was a choice, I couldn't let you. What you did, you did for all the right reasons. What _She_… _It_, showed you, _will_ come to pass, and if the only way to keep this world safe is by Angel staying in it, then I'm kind of honoured to bow out in his place."

"But you're so young…" Buffy whispered, her tone bitter. She nestled subconsciously closer into Dawn's palm, surprised to feel it cold but almost solid against her cheek.

"That's the thing about destiny," replied Dawn, "it doesn't really give a crap if you're old enough to vote or get drunk. It just kind of… happens. You should know that better than anyone."

Buffy shook her head, half blinded by the tears that coursed freely from her eyes. Dawn's mouth formed a sympathetic line, and the pad of her thumb brushed against Buffy's skin, leaving an ice cool tingling in its wake.

"H-how are you h-here though?" Buffy stammered, finally managing to swallow down the lump that had risen in her throat. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, and she forced herself to utter the concluding part of her question, "The contract said… your soul… I mean… Hell."

Dawn nodded, her expression remaining stoic as her hand returned to her side and she gracefully lowered herself onto her knees in front of her sister.

"They explained a little of what happened to me," Dawn began, pausing for a moment as sorrow crashed briefly over her features before she was able to iron it out once again, "the soul She took was supposed to be condemned to Hell. I guess She thought that losing someone you loved wasn't enough to make you suffer. Everything She said to you was true; except one thing."

Buffy arched a brow in questioning, but patiently and silently waited for Dawn to continue with her explanation.

"She always knew it would be me, from the moment She drew up the contract," said Dawn, her front teeth catching her lower lip as she poised herself to continue. "She wanted to break you, and She figured that I was the sure fire way to do it. There was nothing you could have done to stop Cerberus from taking me."

"Cerberus?" Buffy repeated, alarm flashing across her face as she recalled the enormous, dog-like demon that she had encountered in L.A. – the very one that had carried Angel through the gates of Hell.

"All those suspicious coronary related deaths the last few months? They were him," answered Dawn, her tone almost bitter now, "he devours souls and then carries them to Hell. The victim dies feeling like they've been torn to shreds, but on the outside, it appears similar to a heart attack."

"They were playing with us," murmured Buffy, shaking her head and clutching her stomach with one hand as she felt it begin to roll in response to her sickening realisations, "all those people dead… in Hell… because they wanted me afraid."

"Those deaths aren't on you, Buffy," Dawn promised quietly, her eyes dropping to her lap as Buffy bowed her head, striving desperately to collect her fragmented emotions before she collapsed into sobs.

"But… how are you not…" Buffy started, trailing off to simply inquire in a tiny voice, "your soul?"

Dawn regarded her sister for several moments in complete silence. Her eyes were affixed intently upon the Slayer's face, and it was clear to Buffy that she was making certain that she had her full attention before she continued.

"When I was the Key, the monks took my energy and crafted it into human form, using you as kind of a template," Dawn revealed, hesitating for only a second before ploughing on with resolve, "it's like some unwritten law of the Universe that a Slayer's soul can never be confined to Hell. The Devil just isn't that juiced, and a 'warrior for the light' will always be destined for… well, you know… the other place."

Dawn rolled her eyes upwards towards the ceiling in indication, and Buffy hiccupped a giggle between her quiet sobs.

"You said it yourself once, Buffy- it's our blood," Dawn murmured, her smile wide and her own eyes now shining with unshed tears, "and it saved me, again. Because as long as there was a part of you, a part of the _Slayer_, in me, there was no way I could ever be contained there. I guess that was something She never figured on."

Buffy nodded but, although her lips formed a smile, there was no relent in the flow of her tears. Her fingers crept forwards, searching out the fabric of Dawn's ivory dress, but she found that they now simply passed through the material as though it was not there at all.

"Is this a dream?" Buffy demanded in a small voice. Dawn shook her head in response.

"I don't have much time left here, Buffy," she replied, peering down at her own hands, which were beginning to adopt an almost translucent appearance, "I get to move on to something better… and I came here to tell you that I want you to do the same."

"But I…" Buffy began to protest, falling obediently silent as Dawn raised a finger in warning.

"We beat the Devil, Buffy… well, in one way at least," she said, her eyes sweeping Buffy's face in earnest, "don't let that count for nothing. Don't live the rest of your life feeling guilt for something that wasn't your fault."

Buffy simply stared at Dawn. The light surrounding her was beginning to fade, and it was becoming evident that whatever power that had allowed her to visit this plane was calling her back.

"I… have to go…" Dawn stated, watching with wide eyes as a shaft of light emanating from the ceiling suddenly illuminated her. Her eyes closed for a second, and a brilliant smile lit up her face, giving it a carefree appearance that had not been present for a long time.

"I love you," Buffy rasped, extending a hand to Dawn, who reciprocated the gesture. Buffy was distraught to find that their fingertips failed to meet, merely passing through each other as if Dawn was a figment of her imagination.

"I love you," replied Dawn, glancing again with what appeared to be impatience at the swirling light that encapsulated her, "and Buffy? When Spike comes to you… know that what he has to say is for the best. Know that it's what I want."

Buffy frowned, confusion and sorrow passing across her features in rapid succession, before she finally bobbed her head at her sister in acknowledgement of her promise.

"Say 'hi' to Mom for me," whispered Buffy, watching as Dawn gave her one final smile before tossing back her head and screwing her eyes shut. The light only grew in intensity until Buffy suddenly found herself unable to look into it for fear that it would burn her retinas. It felt as warm as the sun against her skin, and just as pleasant; it radiated waves of peace and utter contentment that filled up every last corner of the Slayer, and almost made her yearn for the sanctity of the beautiful light herself.

Several seconds later, the heat began to recede and, once the spots had finished dancing behind Buffy's eyelids, she allowed them to flicker open. She gazed upon the spot in which her sister had stood only seconds before, and her heart plummeted as she found it empty. With Dawn's presence, Buffy had received a miracle; and yet the miracle she had truly hoped for had evaded her, and Buffy was left in no doubt that Dawn was finally gone.

Gathering the remainder of her wits together, Buffy climbed to her feet, shuffled slowly over to the blinking TV set, jabbed at the power button, and made her way upstairs to her bed.

**x-x-x**

"Are you sure, love?" Spike inquired, his voice barely raised above a whisper as he addressed Dawn but continued to gaze in open adoration at the baby he cradled in his arms.

Dawn merely nodded, her hand drifting forward to caress the top of the child's head. Her eyes reflected the weight of her pain, and Spike reached out to rest his free hand on her knee. Dawn consented to a small smile, before she covered Spike's hand with her own and brushed her thumb across his scarred knuckles.

"It's for the best, Spike… we both know it," Dawn murmured, the light radiating from her seeming to dim just a little, as though it were directly correlated to her mood.

He nodded, although every last fibre of him screamed that it wasn't fair, that they had lost enough already without this. But he knew that Dawn was right, and that was perhaps the hardest part of the situation to deal with.

"This wasn't the way things were supposed to end," Spike said glumly, fresh tears shining in his eyes as he stroked the bridge of the baby's nose.

"It's not the end yet," Dawn soothed, her voice growing weaker and more faint, alerting the vampire to the fact that she would soon leave him for perhaps the final time. "For her, it's just the beginning, and that's why this is so important."

"I don't want you to go, love," he pleaded, watching Dawn intently as she bowed her head to rest a tender kiss against their daughter's cheek.

"I won't ever be far," she promised, a single tear beginning to slip down her ghostly pale cheek, "this isn't goodbye, and if I have to wait a hundred years for you, William, then that's what I'll do. But first, you keep your promise for me… and for her."

Spike glanced up at Dawn- the woman who owned every last millimetre of his once cold, dead heart – the one woman he had ever truly loved, and had been loved by in return. It was almost more than he could bear to watch her fade from his view, a mouthed 'I love you' dying on her lips as her apparition disappeared. He forced himself to nonetheless, knowing that it was the least he could do for her now.

After all, a hundred years could seem like a thousand in the absence of ones soulmate.

**A. N. – I don't suck so bad at the updating this time. Go me! **

**The scene with Spike and Dawn is supposed to have taken place before the Buffy/Dawn scene, just to remove any confusion.**

**I also wanted to thank you all for the reviews on the last chapter, as I didn't get time to write a reply to each and every one. It really means a lot to me that people have followed this story for so long and that they are enjoying it. There's just one more chapter to go now, and then this journey has reached its end! **


	56. Chapter 56

_**Epilogue**_

More than anything, Dawn Summers wished that she could have said that those who had loved and lost her had carried on as normal in her absence. However, this is seldom the case in the wake of the passing of a loved one, and Dawn's friends and family were no exception.

Her death had evoked memories and feelings for Xander that he had kept buried for the longest time. For several weeks, he worried that he may become consumed by them again, and that the ghost of Anya that had once haunted him and been laid to rest would resurface with a vengeance the former demon would have been proud of. However, Xander decided quickly that he would not allow this to be the case and so, instead of focusing on the cloud of his own grief, he set about helping Spike to emerge from under his own. At first, the relationship between the vampire and the man who loathed him was tentative at best, built mainly on the shaky foundation of what they both knew Dawn would have wanted. She watched over them with pride as they fumbled their way through evenings in front of the television at Xander's apartment and half-enthusiastic Monopoly tournaments. Yet despite their lacklustre friendship, it was Xander whom Spike eventually trusted with his myriad of emotions, and Xander who inevitably held him when the tears came.

Regardless of all that had transpired between them prior to her death, Dawn was grateful for Xander's presence in Spike's life. He had come a long way from the stammering, floppy haired young boy who shielded his fragile heart with his wit, and he would go so much further before the day he drew his own final breath.

Naturally, Xander was not the only one to be reminded by Dawn's passing of the untimely departure of another loved one. In the weeks and months following, Willow spent more nights than she cared to admit wrapped up in Tara's old and somewhat ragged grey bathrobe. No matter how much time slipped by, it seemed to Willow that there was a part of her soul that remained fractured without Tara, and her own tears fell freely to the soundtrack of a soft female voice and gentle guitar strings, which had once lifted the two witches high above the dance floor of the Bronze.

And from the corner of the room, Tara would watch without fail, her own tears tripping her cheeks in perfect synchronicity, and Dawn was struck by the beautiful tragedy of it all. Willow would love again, it was in her plan after all, and her tears would eventually be stilled by the soft pads of another's thumbs. Tara would simply wait patiently for the day they would be reunited; too afraid to truly look into Willow's heart until that moment, content instead to exist in a lifetime of uncertainty, so long as the redhead smiled once more.

It was perhaps Giles who managed to surprise Dawn the most. The permanence of loss was something that the Watcher had long ago come to terms with, and so despite his considerable grief for the young woman he had considered a daughter, Giles was the first of the group to find beauty in life again. His smile was just a little wider than the others'; his laugh just a little less hollow, because for Giles, his acceptance of death had brought with it the realisation that they were all just passing time until the day they were called to the most thrilling of adventures.

Not only did a part of Giles long for the perfect clarity and knowledge that his own sensibilities told him existed in death, but his arms ached to hold those that had gone before him. So it was until the day he died that Giles continued to talk to Dawn whenever he was alone or afraid or beaten down, or a combination of all three. She was never far away from the husky call of his voice, and she was almost certain that once or twice he had actually felt the hand she had rested on his wearied shoulder. In death, their connection remained as strong as it had done in life, and that was perhaps why Dawn often chose to visit Giles and sit with him a while unbeknownst as he poured over his manuscripts and tomes.

When it was his time, however, Dawn did not come to meet him; instead, she left that honour to a dark haired woman who had waited four decades for the perfect first date with her Ripper.

It was perhaps Buffy that Dawn found it most difficult to look in on over the years. Despite Dawn's final pleas to her sister, there was a part of the Slayer that continued to blame herself for their parting. At least for Buffy, the existence of heaven was no big mystery yet to be unravelled, and she found her comfort not only in her husband's arms, but in the knowledge that Dawn was finally part of the light again. However, gone was that particular longing for Buffy, who was determined to at least honour her word that she would not let her sister's death be in vain. So the Slayer continued to fight, never sensing the dark haired eternal teenager who walked by her side, watching as battles were lost and won, as their old family home became filled by the laughter of children, and as blonde hair became streaked with grey.

On the day of their twenty-ninth apocalypse, Dawn watched as Angel fulfilled his human destiny with the single arc of an axe blade that took with it the head of a mythical creature whose name Buffy could not pronounce, and yet whose teeth had been millimetres from her jugular. She would never know that that had been the deciding moment; that the world would have gone to Hell without Angel in it because his destiny would always be to protect the woman he loved at all costs. Yet Dawn watched it all with a smile, never once sorry to have been the one to lay down her life for her sister's. Her only regret was that Buffy never seemed aware of her proximity again after the night they had said their goodbyes.

Buffy had once told her that heaven was a place without pain or doubt, and yet Dawn saw it in those she loved every passing day as they waited for the souls still on earth to be called home one by one. Perhaps worst though, she felt it herself in great debilitating waves every time she knew that her sister needed her and yet was oblivious to her presence. But still Dawn came, because that was just what sisters do.

When Buffy had taken a particular brutal beating in a battle, Dawn perched on the edge of the bed and held her hand as Angel tended her wounds, and that night she watched over them until the sun rose, ready to cause a disturbance should Buffy take a turn for the worse.

When it became apparent to Buffy and Angel after quite some years of fruitless trying that their desire for a child would not be easily fulfilled, Dawn held her sister in an unfelt embrace as she sobbed on the bathroom floor. Again Dawn spent the night in a vigil, this time with her fingers splayed upon the Slayer's forehead whilst her lips brushed the shell of her ear, and she whispered soothing promises of the future.

The day that Buffy's first daughter made her entrance into the world, Dawn sat at her sister's side through early morning contractions right up until the child's cries filled up the tiny hospital room. The day that the tentative new parents brought their baby home, Dawn watched as Buffy rocked the infant in her arms from the safety of a nursing chair, and was even responsible for the single white feather that Angel later found as he was laying his new daughter into her crib.

Indeed, Dawn was even at her sister's side the night her niece went on her first date, chuckling unheard as she watched Buffy arm the fifteen year old with stakes, vials of holy water, and a rape alarm – the latter of which was wholly unnecessary given her super-human strength. Dawn stayed even when the retired-Slayer fell asleep in the armchair, and it was she who was responsible for the blanket that Buffy found draped lovingly across her when she woke.

These moments brought Dawn great pain and yet she endured them because she knew they were the moments that, even in death, she could never have forsaken.

Although, from her position of omniscience in the lives of her loved ones, Dawn knew that the one who had perhaps lost the most was the one whom she had found it the hardest to leave behind.

It had taken Spike only hours after Dawn's final departure to realise that the reason he had been unable to give their daughter a name, was that the task was no longer one intended for him. And so, knowing that Dawn's decision was made by the kind of selfless love only a mother can exhibit, Spike swaddled their child in the softest white blanket they owned, and set out on the long drive to Maine.

He made his phone-calls of explanation from the road whenever he pulled into motel parking lots to take refuge from the breaking dawn. The first time he called Buffy and revealed his intentions, she yelled herself hoarse and threatened to track him down to ram a stake not only through his heart, but also up his ass. That was, until Spike explained that the idea had not been his own; that it was the final act of maternal love that Dawn had wished to carry out for her daughter. Each night after that, Buffy's anger receded a little more, until by the fifth and final night of Spike's journey, she simply listened quietly and carefully as the vampire spoke to her of the wishes he held for his daughter's future; a future he would not be a part of.

"I hope she's happy, you know," Spike had said, his eyes locked on the features of the slumbering child, "I want her to grow up in a big house… flashy, like… birthday parties every year, more toys than she could shake a bloody stick at… maybe a dog."

"That sounds perfect," Buffy had replied, her eyes misting over with tears as she contemplated the weight of the sacrifice Spike was preparing to make.

"I can't give her 'perfect', Buffy," he had murmured, the regret in his voice palpable, "and her old Mum's smart enough to know that; I always said she'd be a great mother."

"The best," Buffy had agreed, blowing out several steadying breathes as she felt her throat beginning to burn with the threat of more tears.

"Dawn knows what's best for Baby Bit," he had stated, the confidence that shone through in his voice alongside the pain a true testament of his love for the woman, "it's better this way."

Spike had refused to say an outright goodbye when he had placed her into the waiting arms of the woman who would take Dawn's place, under the watchful gaze of the man who would take his. The immediate looks of adoration that spread across their features as they regarded the baby were enough alone to reassure him of the kind of life they would give her, but nonetheless, Spike made his threats.

"If anything ever harms a hair on her head, I swear to God I will hunt you both down and feed you your own entrails," he had growled, finding it increasingly difficult to talk as the lump in his throat only seemed to grow larger.

The couple nodded, too lost in their blissful moment to pay much mind to the creature standing on their doorstep. For just a second though, the woman raised her gaze to Spike's features, and the sympathy she felt as she took in the sight of his hunched shoulders and defeated expression shone through on her face.

"We'll take good care of her," she vowed, her sincerity in not only her words but also her smile, "we've waited a long time for this."

"She'll be well protected," the man confirmed, his eyes still on the baby as he gently brushed the tip of his index finger across the apple of her cheek. He was already entranced, not that Spike could blame him.

"The coven promised us that nobody will ever know who she really is," the woman, now almost glowing with maternal radiance, added quietly as she shifted the baby slightly in her arms. Spike could only nod, gathering every last shred of courage left in him for the moment he would be forced to turn on his heel and relinquish the last precious scrap of the life that had been stolen from him.

He paused a moment, bending to press a kiss to the baby's forehead. He would not say goodbye, because at that minute in time, one more goodbye would have brought him permanently to his knees.

"You be a good girl, Bit," he murmured, nuzzling her hair with his nose and breathing in deep the intoxicating scents that clung to her, "I'll see you later."

Spike was as good as his word, and nobody dared to question exactly where he disappeared to for a week once every five years, or just why he appeared so very broken every time he returned. It was a secret that Spike would take to his grave, although he suspected one that Dawn would already be privy to.

As the years passed, the Scoobies remained in agreement of the fact that Dawn would always be there, watching over her daughter, lamenting the chance she had never gotten, and yet thankful for the ones that others had. Because above everything else, Sunnydale had taught them all one thing; that life was not truly full of goodbyes, just an awful lot of _'see you laters'_.

_**The End**_

* * *

_**A.N.- **_**And there they are; those two little words I honestly sometimes doubted you would ever see on this fic. I just want to take the time to thank every one of you; the reviewers, the silent readers, and the wonderful friends I have made through writing this. It means so much to me that people actually enjoyed what I had to say, and I am thrilled to have gotten the chance to play with Joss' toys for just a little while. I hope I have done Mr. Whedon justice, because _Buffy_ will always be my first love.**

**Writing has helped me through some tough times over the past few years; deaths, difficult births, deployments, illness, and so much more that I have neither the time nor inclination to name. I just again want to thank you all for showing an interest in one of the things that always helped me to bounce right back, and for being there to share in the numerous good times too! **

**Special shout out to my 'fic wifey', Ashesatmidnight, who I finally had the pleasure of meeting a week or so ago in the real world. She has become a valued and trusted friend over the last 4 years, and I am so very pleased to have met her through this fic. You should all run and check her out, because she's a beautiful writer, and a beautiful person. **

**I have no immediate plans for a sequel, and I am sure you are all just about tired enough of my ramblings! We'll see what the future holds, but for now I am active in the Supernatural fandom as both a solo author and co-author with my sister. I'd love for you to check out my profile page and see what else lurks there, if you get a spare moment. **

**Take care, everyone. **

**Grrrr – argh!**


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